


A Mahariel in the Circle

by Brosca-Pride (Fan_by_Proxy)



Series: One Elf, Three [Potential] Lifetimes [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Harrowing, Naive Warden, The Circle, The Fade, long fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-04-19 05:24:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4734224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fan_by_Proxy/pseuds/Brosca-Pride
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Surana Mahariel was raised within the Circle, with all the expectations and short-comings implied.  But the rebellious nature of Elvhenen hasn't quite been crushed by Andrastian sermons and threats of Templar-approved decapitation; even if it may take an entire world-saving adventure to realize her own mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Day Before the Harrowing

     "You've been unusually grumpy today." Surana whispered, pressing further into the corner of the broom closet to make room for him. " _And_ snappish, even for you." she added as Cullen shut the door after, blinking rapidly to adjust to the darkness. Meeting like this was better when you were positive of whose shadow was holding your hand.

     "I've a lot on my mind." he said abruptly. "And there's something that...that we need to do. Before it's too late."

     Her breath caught at the seriousness of his tone, though she did not grasp the full meaning behind his words. "They're not transferring you to another Circle, are they? I know there's been some gossip, but I've been discrete, I promise." Surana rose on her toes to shorten the reach to his face, pressing her palms to his cheeks. Stubble tickled her palms, but the sternness of his tone killed what laughter might bubble up in her throat.

     "No, no. It's something else entirely my little sweetheart." Cullen replied, turning his face in her grasp to catch the fleshy pad at the base of her thumb in a kiss. He worried it between his lips, eliciting a sharp gasp from her. The sound spurred him, sending his hands wandering up the front of her robes to her neck. Such a slim, delicate little neck; smooth and pale, undone and crushed by the mere press of thumb and finger. "Cull--

     They had kissed before; chastely, demurely. Delicate brushes against cheeks and eyelids and foreheads, sweet and romantic and secret. This was not that kind of kiss; he pressed her against the wall, feeling her pulse jump beneath his thumbs as he took her mouth for his own. As his tongue forced its way past those plump cherry lips to teach her appreciation, his fingers sought the exotic points of her ears. Those who frequented the bawdy house swore the fastest way to pleasure an elf was to tweak their ears; judging from the way she sagged against him, they were right!

     Surana whimpered, hands caught in the crush of their bodies. Was he angry with her? Is that why he pressed and tweaked and prod so fervently? She didn't understand and there wasn't breath enough to ask, or even space enough between them to get words out. Just the weight of his armor, the scrape of stubble against her face, and the thick foreign taste in her mouth. It wasn't until his hands left her ears to start pulling up the length of her robes that she managed to force out a noise.

     "What?" Cullen panted.

     "I...I think I heard something outside." Those words were sure to put an end to this peculiar, angry meeting; they could not risk being found out by anyone, after all. "Go and check."

     He gave an angry huff, but slipped out of the broom closet. Surana waited, listening to the low rumble of his voice. What dumb luck that the lie had been made true! She rubbed her ears, trying to soothe them. Three soft scratches at the door signaled the end of the tryst; she would have to count to ten before attempting her own slip-away. Just as well; if Cullen was going to be strange and angry, it was better to avoid him for a time until his temper returned to something like normal. Hopefully whatever had bunched his smallclothes would be settled by then and they could go back to kissing sweetly without ear-pulling.


	2. The Harrowing

     She was still trying to rub sleep out of her eyes when Gregoir started to speak.  It was something he'd said a hundred thousand times, to every person, corner, and fixture in the Tower.  Yes, yes, the Prophetess who saved the world, something-something magic is good and bad all at once; on-and-on the Fade and demons and...-- _oh_ dear, the old Knight-Commander was now glaring at her.  Had she yawned?  She didn't quite remember opening her mouth, but if she had, it couldn't be helped!  Dragged out of bed in the middle of the blasted night, with barely enough pause to do up her robes proper.  If Gregoir wanted the usual cowering respect, he'd have to make these kinds of appointments at a more reasonable hour.  It wasn't until 'Harrowing' left the First Enchanter's lips that Surana realized some of what was going on.

     "What...what happens if I cannot defeat the demon?" she asked, trying to puzzle out the few words she’d caught earlier.  Theories about resistance and fighting in the Fade were all well and good to study in the cozy light of the library, but to be set into the fight without one bit of warning?!  Half-asleep and rumpled and unarmed?!

     "Then it will turn you into an abomination and the Templars will be forced to slay you." the Knight-Commander snapped.  

     Irving's hand was on her shoulder, pushing her towards the lyrium fount.  It was a nightmarish version of his lectures; a steady rumbling murmur that was less and less soothing the closer the pulsing glow came.  Her eyes watered at the brightness as the sunk feeling in her stomach grew worse.  Fear would be her enemy in the Fade, but how could anyone not walk into this situation and not be terrified?!  The only thing she heard as her hand reluctantly reached for the fount was Irving's caution.

     " _Be careful..._ "

** Getting Faded **

     The taste of ashes. Floating ruins.  Trees growing from the sky.  Great tall twisted statues.  It was the Fade alright, though not any part Surana could recall visiting before.  "I'd wish for a map, though I doubt it would help."  The words warbled and drifted away, as solid in the air as stone; talking to herself would not be of any help or comfort here. Surana took a deep breath and set off down the dirt-not-dirt path.  Reeds with teeth lined the way, and a strange little wisp floated ahead.  

     She was all set to ignore it, until the first shock.  It ripped through her body, put a horrible metallic taste in her mouth along with the ashy lyrium; she couldn't believe it!  "You little bastard!"  Although she had no staff at hand, it was the Fade.  Magic could fly from her fingertips as easy as ink from a tipped bottle.  The wisp burst in a puff of glitter, and she could be on her way.  "Nasty bastard.  That should learn you--

    _"HELP!"_

     Startled, Surana broke into a run.  The direction of the distress yielded two more wisps.  Whatever they were on, she couldn't yet see.  A few bolts later though, she had an answer.

     "Ah.  Another mage, as young and unprepared as ever.  It isn't right that they do this; the Templars.  Not to you, me, anyone."  The voice was deep and bitter.

     And it belonged to a rat.

     "You're a talking rat....well if I wasn't sure this was the Fade before..." she snorted.

     "You think--you fool, you look like that because you think you look like that!" it snapped.  "Ah, but it's not your fault.” The rat sighed.  “It's the same for all of us; thrown in here as dumb as lambs waiting for the slaughter."  There was a stinging flash of light, and then suddenly a weary-eyed mage with brown hair stood before her.  "Allow me to welcome you to the Fade.  You can call me...well...Mouse." he shrugged.

     Surana squinted.  He was familiar and yet not; a friend but then again, a stranger.  "You...took the Harrowing?"

     Mouse spat.  "They drag you up in the middle of the night, throw you into the Harrowing chamber and expect you to perform like a trained bear in a traveling show.  And then they kill you if you take too long...the Templars.  They fear something getting out, so they kill you to save their own sorry skins...." he kicked at a stone, sending it sailing over the edge.  "I think...I think that's what happened to me.  I have no body left to reclaim, this much I know." he sighed.  "You don't have much time before you end up the same way."

     "Hell..." Surana sighed.  "I'm sorry for what's happened to you--

     "Don't waste time with talk like that!" he interrupted angrily.  "You don't want to end up like _this_....there's something here, contained and baited and _hungry_ for something just like you.  It's your way out...or his, if the Templars don't manage to kill you.  Your _test_ and a tease for the creatures of the Fade." Mouse sneered.

     "Why in the name of Andraste's twisted knickers would they do that?!" she exploded; bad enough to be somehow sent to an unfamiliar part of the Fade, worse yet to be at the mercy of fluffy little balls of lightening and hatred, but topping it off with a goaded demon?! ‘Unfair’ did not begin to cover the feelings raging in her belly.

     He snorted.  "A question for those in the Tower.  Perhaps you might ask them, in just that way, if you make it back.  In any case, there are other spirits here, who might be able to offer some assistance."  He shrugged.  "If it's all the same to you, I'll follow.  My chance is well past but you might have a chance, if you're as confident as you act."  There was another flash of light.

     "Must be dead useful, being that small around here." Surana mused as she started down the dirt-not-dirt path again.  

     "Please don't say 'dead'."

     "Sorry."

 

     It wasn't until she'd banished another pair of wisps that Mouse spoke again.  "I...missed my chance.  So I became small; practically invisible.  Avoid the larger things, learn from the smaller...there are places you can hide in the Fade.  Places where the shadows are so deep and go on so long that you can stay lost in them forever...they crawl inside you, and it's....easier to hide.  I don't know how long it's been for me.  Forever, maybe?"

     Surana gave a smoking crater a wide berth.  "So the Templars just killed you?"

     "They did.  They fear us; they'd kill us all if they had the chance!  This test is just an excuse.  Fail this, and they'll take your life.  Learn a little too much, they'll call you a blood mage and end you with a single slice!  They fear the potential of true mages like you!"  He had gone from mouse to man again, and flecks of spittle gathered at the edges of his lips.  "The power you have is a gateway to greater things, the potential for so much more than a mewling existence in a locked Tower, and the Templars would strike you down for acknowledging that!"

     "You're getting a little...spitty there, Mouse." Surana replied nervously, backing away a few steps with her hands held up defensively.  "They're not all like that."

     The rage on his face subsided, features settling back into something approaching human.  "Am I? ...I'm sorry...it's just...not right.  There are mages who don't go to Circles.  They're hunted, but they can be free." he sighed.

     A peculiar ache settled in her breast at the longing in his voice.  Who didn't dream of freedom when they were set in a Tower?  But she had learned that freedom was not easy, and for some people, it just wasn't an option.

     "You don't want to lose yourself here.  Being nothing would be easier than this." Mouse added mournfully.

     "Do you... _want_ to die Mouse?" Why had she asked that?  It was morbid and unhelpful; _Maker_ but her mouth was out-of-control sometimes.

     He twitched.  "I...think you should finish your Harrowing."

     Surana looked away from the now-mouse.  There was a clearing ahead, a figure standing next to a fire.  Maybe that was the blasted demon, and she could somehow beat it and return before anyone back in the waking world got any murderous ideas.

 

     It wasn't a demon.  Just a virtuous spirit calling himself 'Valor'.  He didn't even acknowledge Mouse's presence; that was irksome.  And rude! And frankly, not very valorous. Surana thought of the halls of the Tower, how some of the senior enchanters would ignore students that didn't do as well.    Never made sense to her; if your job is to instruct, why would you ignore them that need more instruction?

     As the spirit prattled on about cowardice and combat, she wondered just how the Harrowing even came to be.  Who decided this was a good idea, and how did they convince everyone else? Was this some sort of bizarre joke that had gotten out of hand or something? Was it an old joke or a new joke? If anyone might know, it would be a spirit removed from time. At the very least, he could mention whether or not she was one of many or one of a few to come his way."Do you know anything else about the Harrowing, spirit?" Surana asked when there was finally a break in the monologue.

     "Is that what your test is called?  I know so little of your mortal ways.” The armored spirit replied with an indifferent gesture.  “What I know is that a demon has been called and told that a meal awaits.  It cannot leave until one of you is dead."

_There_ was a comforting thought.  No wonder Mouse had gotten so spitty earlier.  "Can you help at all?" It never hurt to ask...well sometimes it did, but if she was already facing life-and-death, asking couldn’t possibly hurt her any _more_.

     The spirit almost seemed amused at the question.  "Of course!  But that is not my purpose; I seek perfection, to create the ultimate weapon for the pursuit of valor."

_Of course I can help you, I just won’t_ \--that didn’t seem like a very valorous answer.  At this point in the conversation, however, Surana had lost the meaning of the word ‘valor’; so maybe it _was_ a valorous answer.  "And these weapons here, that you've already made, would they affect the demon?" she asked.

     "All that is within the Fade is an expression of thought.  If you believe these staves be wood, these blades steel, then they are." the spirit replied.  "Do you truly desire one of my weapons?  I will give one to you, if you agree to a duel." He declared vigorously.  "Valor shall test your mettle as it should be tested!"

     She sighed.  "If that's what it takes to get a blasted staff around here, then I agree to the duel."  Surana hoped the duel was more of a debate than a fistfight; a debate seemed more winnable against the heavily armed.

     "As you wish, mortal.  We shall battle until I am convinced you are strong enough to face your challenge.  Fail here, and I shall strike you down myself." Valor declared.

     It was like something out of some terrible adventure story, honestly!  "Of course.  Gotcha.   _Right away_." Of course the heroes in those terrible adventure stories were usually carrying more than some natty robes and their slippers; Surana couldn’t believe it but she was actually envious of Gormlin the Small. At least _he’d_ gone after the terrible vipers of Par Sharok with a talking sword!

     Mouse gave a tiny snigger.  Valor either did not catch the sarcasm, or was choosing to ignore it.  "Then fight with Valor!"  He declared, lashing out suddenly.

     Surana barely dodged the blow, falling back.  Her hand came up, ice and fire springing from her fingertips all at once.  It was an amazing bit of accidental magic, and there was no time to appreciate it because Valor's swings were fast and furious.  If any blows landed, she did not notice, so focused on pushing back the spirit was she.  

     "Enough!" he shouted suddenly, icicles hanging off his armor.  "Your strength is sufficient to your task; the staff is yours."

     Huffing and brushing dust from her sleeves, Surana nodded.  "Thanks.  Let's not do that again, huh?"

     "May you find glory in all your achievements, mortal." he replied.

 

     The staff was knotty and burled, a single charm dangling from the end as a focus.  But it was better than nothing.  And she could lean on it as they left Valor's fire.  

     "Well?  Do you feel valorous?" Mouse prodded.

     She snorted.  "I feel damn tired.  But I think my head is still attached to my living body."

     "Don't count on that feeling for long." he said.

     Surana sighed.  "Right...is that a bear ahead?"

     "No.  Only something that may be shaped like one." Mouse chided.

     "Humor me, I'm tired." She replied.

     "Then you had better hurry."

 

     "You're a rather cute bear." Surana snorted as they left Sloth's clearing.

     "I feel so...heavy.  And I'm not cute.  I'm a terrible beast of the forest."  He huffed.  

     She shook her head.  "Bears aren't terrible.  Big, yes.  Dangerous, sure.  But not terrible."

     "And how would you know?" Mouse-now-Bear demanded.

     "I ran away from the Circle, to live with the Dalish.  I got to spend three months out-of-doors, and one of the things I did learn was that bears are generally not terrible.  Unless they're hungry, or you threaten their babies, or you woke them up...safe to say, bears are no less terrible than people."

     He snorted, a much more effective sound now that he had a bear's muzzle instead of a mouse's nose.  "You jest."

     "It's true.  It was a beautiful time of my life."

     "And yet, here you are." Mouse-now-Bear sniffed, raising clouds of dust with every heavy step.

     She sighed.  "Yes, yes here I am.  Captured and wandering the Fade with a Mouse who is now a Bear and looking for a demon that thinks of me as dinner.  What glory comes my way!"

     "Don't fret now.  You're so close to the one hunting you." Mouse-now-Bear said.  "You're almost through your test." he sounded eager.

     "Then we're on our way, for better or worse."  Surana declared, making slow and steady progress up an incline.  She wondered if the others had met Mouse, or if their Harrowings had come with different companions.  Then she remembered she wouldn't be allowed to ask around anyway.  Suddenly the Fade seemed much less stifling; something might be waiting eagerly to murder her, but it would probably answer at least one question before it did.

 

     The demon of Rage disappeared back into the dust of the Fade, leaving nothing behind but the stringent stink of smoke. Mouse was nearly leaping for joy.  "You did it!  You _actually_ did it!  Oh when you came, I hoped you might be able to...but I never really thought any of you would be worthy!" He was a man again, practically pirouetting around the small ring they’d met Rage in.

     Something still felt off; not to say that the whole journey hadn’t felt _wrong_ from the moment Surana fell into the Fade, but the creeping, niggling sense of offness was even stronger now _despite_ defeating the demon.  "So you fed others to that?  Then why was he so weak?" she demanded.

     "He wasn't weak." Mouse insisted.  " _You_ are a true mage; the others...they were set up to fail by the Circle, by the Templars!  Untrained, hopeless things!”  Froth had gathered at the corners of his mouth again.  “They were mere pawns, but _you_ have the power to succeed.” Mouse grabbed her by the shoulders, giving her a little shake and pulling her closer to him.  “I… _regret_ my part in their ends, but you've shown me there can still be hope!  You can be so much more than you are now, than you ever thought you could be before."

     She squinted.  "And that means what for you, Mouse?  You're not some benevolent spirit smithing swords in the Fade and making grand proclamations; so what's my success do for you?” The stink of smoke wasn’t getting any better; her eyes wanted very much to water and Surana wanted very much to be away from this place…and this Mouse.

     "There...may be a way for me to leave here, to get a foothold outside.” Mouse began cautiously.  “Someone as strong--as full of potential as you are--you could _help_ me.  Just let me in." he smiled.

     It was a cold stretching of the lips.  Nothing like humour touched his eyes.  Valor had been a headache, Sloth a brief interruption, and Rage a mild inconvenience; maybe the Harrowing wasn't exactly about beating back the Fade so much as...seeing _through_ it.  "I'm starting to think that thing wasn't actually my test." She pulled away, finding no resistance in his grip though his fingers had felt so heavy on her.

     "Don't be a _fool_.  What else is here that could harm an apprentice of your...potential..." Mouse trailed off, then laughed sharply with a voice as raw and deep as Rage’s.  "Such a _clever_ girl.  Killing is easy; it takes no magic or talent to end a life.” He tweaked her cheek.  “Beware your pride little mage; it is no shield.” Mouse stepped back, disappearing in a flash and revealing something huge and monstrous.  “True tests never end!" he bellowed raising an arm that ended in too many claws.

     Surana stepped back as the Fade grew brighter.  Killing might be "easy" but she wasn't about to pretend to be better than that and risk losing her head for real. “Then come at me Mouse, and be done with your lectures!”


	3. Alive and (un)Well!

     "Are you all right?  Say something, please!" A new voice? A new problem. This part of the Fade was nothing BUT problems. She missed the parts that were almost like forests. They were generally quiet and murder-free.

     Surana lashed out with both feet, swearing at the stinging pain it caused her ankles as the kicks connected with something hard.  "Rot your guts Mouse!" she shrieked.

     "It's me, Jowan!  Just calm down and try to relax!"Hands on her shoulders, pressing her back against the bed.  The bed; those were wooden slats overhead, not arms of wickedly ugly statues.  The murmur wasn't hungry demons, just the chatter of apprentices nearby.  She was back in bed, safe and sound. She could breathe.

     “Jowan?”

     "Oh _thank the Maker_ ; I saw them carry you in this morning, I didn't even realize you'd been gone all night." Jowan smiled his nervous little smile, shaky and unsure as ever.  "I've heard some apprentices never come back from Harrowings; is it really so dangerous?  What was it like?"  He sat on the edge of the lower bed.

     Surana ran her hands through her hair, fingers snagging on something sort of sharp.  She frowned, pulling free a broken bit of quill.  " _Maker's Breath_ , not again." she murmured, throwing it aside.  More good quills and combs had met their ends fighting her hair than was really reasonable.  "Jowan, you know I can’t tell you...just...just know that it’s nastier than any rumor going about it.  Be ready for _that_." she said as she sat up slowly and pulled another little bit of something from her hair.  Surana was starting to think the younger apprentices were making a game of hiding things in there while she was sleeping again; sometimes they did that.  Better _that_ then when they pulled at it and ran, in any case.

     He chuffed.  "So much for friendship!"

     "Oh don't you _even_." She snapped.

     "Don't glare at me that way, you know I hate it when you're cross at me...even if you're moving to the nice mages' quarters upstairs and I'm stuck down here, waiting to be called for my own Harrowing." he sighed.

     "It'll be any day now, I bet.  You've been here longer than I have, they're sure to call you soon." she replied.

     "Sometimes I think they don't want to test me Suri." Jowan gave her a grieved look, folding his arms across his chest and hunching over.  

     She frowned.  "Doesn't...doesn't everyone go through a Harrowing?"

     "Not the Tranquil.  You can either be Harrowed, Tranquilized...or you can die, by your own hand or someone else's.  Those are the options in the Circle." he said bitterly.

     Surana frowned.  "They're not going to kill you Jowan.  They're probably just...figuring out the...best...kind of...Harrowing for you." The best kind of demon to pit you against, she wished she could tell him.  

     "Maybe not.  But the Rite of Tranquility is just as bad…”  Jowan shook his head and wiped at his nose.  Scratching at his nose was another nervous twitch of his; he’d had it forever.  “You've met Owain, in the stockroom?  He's Tranquil.  Cold and empty, but still walking around.  No life in him, but still he works.  That's what the Rite does to us." Jowan scratched his nose again.

     She tried to think; there hadn't yet been many occasions to go to the stockroom in her studies, and she couldn't really recall the people who worked there.  "I'll have to watch for that next time I'm there, then."

     "I don't know _how_ it's done, but they cut you off from the Fade.  You lose your magic, your dreams, your emotions..." he shuddered.  "It's terrible."

     "How is that even possible?" Surana demanded, shocked.  

     The clanking of armor just outside the dormitory door set them moving.  Jowan sprang from the bed fast as a scalded cat as Surana forced her feet into slippers and put a few more respectable steps between them.  Most everyone around knew there wasn't one whiff of romance between them, but some of the older Templars saw romance between every man and woman.  Even when it made _no_ sense at all!  

     "That's just awful." Surana continued, as if they hadn't been scared out of a comfortable position.

     "Apprentices can ask to be made Tranquil if they're too scared of the Harrowing, but the Circle can also force it on mages they think are too weak...or too strong." he swallowed.  

     "You'll get called up any day Jowan.  I'm sure of it." she repeated, unsure of what else to say.

     "I shouldn't be...wasting your time.  I was supposed to tell you to go to Irving as soon as you woke up."

     "Any idea what for?"

     Jowan shrugged.  "He didn't say.  I assume it's about the Harrowing, but you can never tell with him...anyway, you should go.  We can always talk later."

     She nodded.  "Thanks Jowan."

     He nodded, and shuffled from the dormitory.  A pair of apprentices were talking near the dressing area; most likely about her, as Surana heard the word 'Harrowing' between bits of gossip.  Wendell apparently had thrown up every day for a week immediately after his Harrowing; it was probably fortunate that her stomach was not threatening to pull the same stunt.  

     Galen was making up his bunk nearby, catching her eye and giving a little wave.  He had only been in the Circle a few years, and was generally amiable.  "Congratulations!  Was that Jowan that just left?"

     She nodded.  

     "He's been acting weird lately; you wouldn't know what he's up to, would you?"

     Surana shook her head.  "He's been no different than usual as far as I know."  She shrugged.  "Say, are you finished with my copy of 'Mages Through the Ages'?"

     Galen passed the book over.  "Thanks for the loan.  It's so nice to read the entries about elven mages without having to see stupid little drawings all over the portraits."

     She nodded.  "Well-said." Book in hand, she left the dormitory.  From the number of apprentices milling around the dormitories, it must have been mid-morning.  Gossip flowed easy, a welcome thrum after the silence of the Fade.  Apparently Humbert was going to submit to the Rite of Tranquility, and an apprentice may or may not have disappeared.  She hoped they were just talking about Anders; he never disappeared.  Just escaped at regular intervals, Maker bless him.  

     The library was only a little busy; the youngest were getting their early lessons and a few apprentices were practicing defense and elemental spells.  She winced as one boy accidentally caught fire.  'Better luck next time' she thought as she breezed by.  There were only a couple of people in the archives, although one did apparently have enough time on his hands to remark snidely about Irving's request of her presence.  Stuart always had something nasty to say about everything; he'd make an excellent archivist, as only books were able to tolerate him!

     Passing the stockroom, she remembered her promise to talk to the Tranquil.  Surana debated stopping, but it seemed unkind to interrupt his work.  She would talk to him later.  It had nothing to do with how unsettling the Tranquil generally were.

 

     Yes it did.

 

     Shame was a tremendous motivator; Surana made herself stop and approach the stockroom.  The Tranquil rattled off a greeting as practiced as a parrot.  "I hope this doesn't offend you Owain, but...you're Tranquil, yes?"

     He nodded.  "I volunteered to undergo the Rite of Tranquility.  It was preferable to undertaking the Harrowing."

     "What was it like?" She asked, squinting.  Nothing in his face changed.

     "I find it difficult to describe.  It is much like the sensation of being plunged into cold waters." Owain replied.

     "What did they do to you?"

     "I am sorry, I cannot say.  I was ordered never to speak of it.  I cannot go against the Circle's wishes." he intoned.

     That was more unsettling than his constant, even tone.  Imagine never being able to disagree...not that Surana considered herself particularly disagreeable; but _still._  She thought of asking him if he still considered himself wholly a person...but that seemed too rude.  Emotionless or not, he still had to have some _feeling_ , didn't he?  The Circle couldn’t take _everything_ away, as Jowan had said...right?  "Thank you for speaking with me Owain."

     He nodded once.  "Very well.  Good day."

     It took some effort, but Surana kept her walking pace slow and steady.  The whole subject of Tranquility was bizarre and unnerving, but there was no reason to punish Owain for her discomfort.  This conversation had raised more questions than it had answered, and a small, private, negative part of her mind suggested that this was not the last of the Circle's dark secrets.  But one did not survive a Circle by listening to that tiny part very often.  Surana continued on her way, humming a tune with no name to set the pace for her feet and cover up the worry.

 

     The upper studies were not as large as the library below, but they were far quieter.  More senior enchanters gathered here, to discuss politics and philosophy--and if they were honest--the latest gossip.  After all, there was little else to do when leaving the Tower took a mountain of paperwork and an armed escort.  At least in the upper studies, there weren't nearly as many permissions needed to read the more advanced books.  Eadric had the right idea; hole up with a tome and learn all you can.

     Finding her new quarters was the best surprise.  Her own _bed_ (twice as wide as the bunks in the apprentices' dorms!), her very own wash tub and desk, her own bookshelf.  The only thing that could make it better would be four walls and a door for real true privacy.  But no point in mulling over what could never be; better to focus on never having to sleep stacked like cordwood again!

 

     Cullen was at the end of the hall, seemingly bored of guarding whatever was in the room behind him; hopefully he was over his queer mood.  "Hello Cullen." she smiled.

     "M-m-m-Mahariel...congratulations...the Harrowing.  It went smoothly." He hardly looked at her.

     The chilly reception was a little odd, but she nodded anyway.  Someone must be in the room to overhear.  "Yes, it did...are you all right?"

     "They picked me.  To be the one to strike the killing blow if you...if you'd become an abomination.  It's nothing personal!" he added quickly, still avoiding those eyes. Those wide, shining green eyes that followed him in his dreams sometimes…as if they knew all that was in his heart, and accepted it even at cost.

     That certainly explained the strange mood from before!  Cullen was just one of those odd people who reacted very poorly to stress; it all made sense. What a privilege to be able to stress poorly and _not_ have someone accuse you of being demon-filled.  "Would you really have struck me down?"

     "I would've felt terrible about it.  But um...I serve the Chantry and the Maker, and I will do as I am commanded."  He shifted uneasily from foot to foot.  "But I wouldn't have been happy about it Surana, not in the least." Cullen whispered, casting a wary eye around.  He hoped she bore him no ill-will; that was just the way things would have to be between them.  He _was_ a Templar and she _was_ a mage; the power would always have to be in _his_ hands.

     "Perhaps this is a conversation that would go better in a less obvious corridor." Surana offered, tucking a stray curl behind her ear.  She would hate to give Gregoir a reason to rant at either of them, especially now that the misunderstanding was laid out and smoothed over.

     A ghost of a smile flickered across his face.  "After you Mahariel." he gestured for her to go into the empty nearby room.  

     Surana slipped past him quickly, a little perturbed at the distance he forced by using her second name, but it could be expected...she supposed.  The hall was empty and no one was in the room but she supposed caution was caution in this kind of situation.  At least his mood would be better now that the Harrowing was over and he hadn’t needed to take her head off.  It might have been nice if he had warned her instead of getting all handsy and toothsome, but no doubt the Templars were under the same strict 'no talking' policy as the mages were.  She _supposed_ she could admire his stalwart dedication to his training...but a hint would have been nice.  At least it would've been nicer than a mauling!

 

     Alone!  Finally, blissfully alone!  Cullen pressed her against the wall, hands on her hips, digging into the curves that had bloomed even in the shade of the Tower.  Her hands were on him, nails raking through his hair, mouth open and hot.  His tongue delved into her mouth again even as their hips ground together; he wanted her, he needed her at the deepest point but there wasn't time right now, there wasn't time, he would have to tease her with a promise, give her his tongue until he could give her his cock.

     She couldn't pull him off; apparently that queer mood hadn't yet passed.  It was as invasive as before, as strange as the first time.   Surana wasn't any more prepared than before, though it was a little less frightening with her hands free to return the pinches and tweaks as roughly as she could manage; although in future hindsight, the scratches probably only stirred his ire more.  But hindsight _was_ for the future, and at the moment all she was trying to do was pluck him bald so he’d stop! Every attempt at protest only resulted in his tongue going deeper into her mouth; if he didn’t stop it, she was going to have to bite!

     Ah, how much better these stolen kisses were when the woman responded!  He would have to teach her to pull a little gentler at his hair but ignorance could be forgiven in these circumstances.  They were both gasping when the kiss broke off, clinging to each other desperately, in pantomime of the frantic lovemaking they surely both wished they'd been doing instead of just illicit kisses in a dark corner.  

     "I have to go...and see Irving."  Her lips ached; they felt puffy and raw, and the heat in her cheeks was unbearable.  Surana had never so dearly wished for an inconvenient interruption before.  Something hard was digging into her thigh that she did not wish to think about; Maker but she wished his queer mood would pass!

     He bit at her lips, lightly, because he could, because he _wanted_ to.  "Wait.  I have something for you."  

     Surana wiped her lips with the back of her hand, combing fingers through her hair to try and set it to right.  He wasn't pulling at her anymore, which was good, but she still had to go and see Irving, and doing so in such a messy state would be very bad.  "Oh?" She hoped it was an actual gift and not just a ribald remark.  Those made her uncomfortable, even as their full meanings tended to go right past her.

     Cullen moved back half a step and slowly reached into his chest plate.  He pulled a tightly bound bit of linen out, and put it in her hands.  "Do you remember when I promised you a star of your own?"

     "Something along those lines, yes." Suri replied faintly, patting her cheeks and hair.  A giggle escaped her.  "I do, yes." Her heart raced at this bit of genuine romance; stars were but a foreign concept for most apprentices, distant theories to be studied in books and descriptions learned third hand from cheesy pulp stories passed back and forth between the bunks.  Only the most trustworthy students were allowed to study the stars; the ones who were least likely to throw themselves off the Tower or cause trouble for the guards and Senior Enchanters.  Suffice to say, Surana had not quite met all of the requirements.  Even in her brief time outside the Tower, Surana had not yet made the acquaintance of starlight; too much happening at her feet to put her head in the sky after all.  She opened the little bundle scrap, and gasped.

     At the bundle’s heart was a little green stone, smooth as glass with a yellow starburst at its center, strung on an old brassy chain.  Cullen smiled.  "I found this on the lake's shore, and thought of you immediately."

     "Oh _Cullen_..." she breathed, picking it up gingerly.  To anyone else it would be just an ugly rock on a poor chain; but in her untrained eyes it was the greatest jewel in all of Ferelden, and a thing more precious than any king's crown.  

     He wanted to hear that sigh again in a much different context.  "Have I kept my promise?"

     She giggled again, and nodded.  "Help me clasp it.  Our little secret will be safe under my robes."  

     Cullen chuckled, appreciating the curls at her neck as she lifted her hair out of the way.  Such thick black locks were meant to be twisted around a man's fist; reins for passion and correction.  He licked his lips, the heat barely contained in his belly threatening to spread again.  He reached for the laces on her cinch, but she slipped away just as his fingers brushed them.

     "I have to go...I'll see you later tonight." Surana giggled, flicking her fingers at Cullen; he seemed deeply confused, and that was always a funny expression on his face.  She skipped from the room, heart racing and the cold bit of stone against her breast.  It was a habit to say 'tonight' to him, although she doubted (and in truth, _hoped_ ) that there would be no sneaking away that night.  His mood was still so strange and gruff; it wasn't as charming as his sweetness.

 

     Passing the workroom yielded some unusual frustrations.  A mage snagged her sleeve and demanded to know if Owain was yet in the stockroom.

     "Well of course; where else would he be?" Surana said, keeping most of the sarcasm out of her tone. After all, someone was _always_ in the stockroom.

     The man rolled his eyes.  "I don't know.  He might've gone to the privy.  The Tranquil still function like us...mostly."

     "Well he was still there last I checked, which was only a few moments ago." She replied, squinting at the one holding her sleeve. His was not a familiar face, and his attitude was not endearing.

     "Good.  I hope he still has some cinnabar lying about; last week he said the store was running low, and I need it." With that, the mage stormed past.

     It was her turn to roll her eyes; some of the upper-level enchanters were so blighted melodramatic.  

     "Don't mind Marlon.  He's been flailing all week.  Word to the wise though, avoid Leorah.  She's been rather testy." Another mage said, offering her a grin.

     "Oh?  Would you know why?" Surana asked.  Senior Enchanter Leorah was a nice, if occasionally twitchy transfer from another Circle who had only been recently brought up to the rank.

     "I don't know and I'm not about to ask; you know how women are about those kinds of questions." he snorted.

     She squinted up at him.  "Has it escaped your notice, Ser Mage, that I am also a woman?” Surana demanded, folding her arms across her chest.  “And as a woman I can say, with confidence, if we are irritated with you, we have a perfectly rational explanation as to why?"

     He laughed.  "See what I mean?"

     Surana shook her head.  "Let me make this plain for you to understand.  You are insensitive and _unpleasant_.  Now if you'll excuse me..." she stepped around him, giving a little knock with her elbow for good measure.  If it wasn't one silly thing, it was another.  If you weren't being snubbed by mages for being an apprentice, you were being snarked by boys for being a girl, and by humans for being an elf.  Sometimes she wished the Tower was just a bit bigger; surely that sort of nonsense wouldn't happen if they weren't all in constant close quarters.

 

     She would've passed the chapel completely, ignoring it as usual-except-for-four-hours-every-Maker's-Day...but someone was crying softly within. Probably just a new apprentice yearning for home, but it never hurt to give sympathy.

     The whimpers were coming from a corner, along with a watery, whisper Chant.  "Blessed art thou who exists in the sight of the Maker..."

     Surana suppressed a deep sigh.  There were a few mages in the Circle who never quite adjusted.  The one currently crying and Chanting was a regular in the 'I can't handle this; Maker I wish I wasn't a mage' category.  "Keili?  What's wrong?"

     She startled.  "Oh, Mahariel...I was just reciting the Maker's blessings." The mage sniffed, wrung fingers trying to wipe away more tears.  "Would you like to join me?"

     Not particularly, as she was starting to question a lot of passages in the Book; but Surana forced a smile.  "Alright Keili." she knelt and imitated the crying girl's posture.  

     Keili took a deep breath.  "Blessed art thou who exists in the sight of the Maker.  Blessed are the penitents who seek His return."

     "Blessed is the Prophetess, purified by flame." Surana followed, resisting the urge to give voice to her amended version.  Very few in the Circle would appreciate it, and Keili's mood was already shot.

     "May the chant reach the Maker's ears and tell Him of our contrition.  So let it be." Her tears had tapered off, and by the time they both got to their feet, Keili's face was almost settled.  "Thank you for saying it with me Mahariel...it brings such peace, doesn't it?"

     Surana forced a smile; it seemed more polite than a shrug, which was definitely more polite than 'not even a little'.  "Are you in trouble Keili?"

     "No, no...it's just...I wouldn't want to bore you." Her gaze slid to the floor, tears welling in her eyes again.

     "Oh I'm sure it's not boring.  You might even feel better if you said it to someone, and Maker knows I've ears enough to listen." Surana coaxed.

     "I just…hope that one day we'll reach the Maker, and be forgiven, and my curse will be lifted."

     "...curse?" No one was cursed in the Tower. Well cursed at, but not cursed. At least insofar as she knew. Could there be werewolf mages? _That_ would be something to ponder during one of the endless sermons.

     Keili looked up, evidently surprised to be questioned.  "Magic--what else?"  

     Surana blinked.  "Magic's not a curse, it's just a thing, like having green eyes or a big nose."

     "Magic _is_ a curse," Keili insisted, "a vile, nasty, wicked source of destruction.  The Chantry is right to work so stringently to protect the world from us that are afflicted.”  Tears began to roll down her cheeks again.  “I wish I had not been born with this punishment.”

     "That's just not true.  Magic's a tool Keili, good or bad comes from whoever is using it.  Think of the healers, what good work they do with magic.  Saving a life is something to strive for, yeah?"  Surana protested.

     "You can do that without magic!" she countered.  "I would do anything to be without this curse.  Even offer myself up to the Rite."

     "Keili _no_ \--

     She gave a watery smile.  "That's it, isn't it?  I'll submit to the Rite, and be freed.  Oh _thank you_ Mahariel, for helping me to see clearly."

     Surana stuttered, unable to force out a reply.  She could only watch Keili scurry from the chapel with a manic gleam in her eye.  Trying to follow on numb feet, she still could not quite form a decent argument.  Magic was what it was; some had it, some did not.  Some could do great evil with it while others did great good; but people could do great good and great bad with whole armies, or at the very least a very sharp stick.  To go so far as Tranquility to get out from under it...she couldn't fathom that as any kind of option.  

 

     Keili's frightening jump in logic was still on her mind when she finally reached Irving's office.  Gregoir and Irving were at it again, which was no great surprise.  That they were arguing in front of someone else though, _that_ was a bit of a surprise.  The stranger was tall and armed, though his armor was less bulky and ridiculous than Templar guards.  He interrupted the argument at her presence.

     "I believe someone is here to see you, First Enchanter." he spoke softly, with an even tone.  But apparently he was important enough to get away with it, since Gregoir shut his mouth.  

     She didn't quite appreciate having such scrutiny dropped on her so heavily, but what could be done?  "Ah...hello.  You ah...sent for me, First Enchanter?" Surana stayed near the door.  If Gregoir had found something offensive in the dormitories or the library, she didn't want to be the mage to catch the blame or the lecture.  Andraste's flapping tits to that.

     But Irving was smiling.  "Ah, our newest sister to the Circle.  Come closer child, you are welcomed." he held a hand out.

     "This is the one you spoke of?" the stranger asked as Surana drew closer.

     Irving nodded, reaching to take her hand and pull her along.  "Yes, it is.  Child, this is Duncan, of the Grey Wardens."

     "Oh, ah...hello sir." Surana tried not to trip over her own toes.  "Pleased to meet with you." she added, earning an approving nod from the First Enchanter.

     "You've heard about the war brewing to the south I expect; Duncan is recruiting mages to join the king's army at Ostagar." Irving said.

     Heard of what?  The only bit of news she had heard was that Donovan was being transferred from Kinloch Hold because he'd dallied too much with a waitress at the tavern across the lake.  Wars weren't mentioned anywhere but in the history lessons around the Tower.  "Who are we fighting?"  

     The stranger's face was largely neutral, though Surana rather thought she saw a discontented narrowing of his eyes, directed at the First Enchanter.  "The growing darkspawn threat.  We will need all of the help we can get."

     "Darkspawn?  On the surface?  I thought they were largely a dwarven problem." she replied.

     "They have formed a horde in the Kocari Wilds, and threaten the land now.  We must push them back, or risk a Blight."

     The First Enchanter shook his head.  "Duncan, hush.  You'll frighten the girl with all your talk of Blights and panic.  Today is a _happy_ day for her."

     Blights?  Panic?  Darkspawn hordes?  Keili was wrong; the real curse for mages was never knowing what was going on outside.  Irving rambled on, giving the 'Welcome to Official Mage-hood' speech.  She wasn't paying much attention, until he mentioned her phylactery and Denerim.  "My phylactery?"

     Irving nodded.  "You may not remember, but blood was taken from you when you first came to us and preserved in a phylactery."

     "So that you may be hunted, should you attempt to escape."  The Grey Warden interjected, cutting another sideways glance at Irving.

     Irving glared tiredly.  "We have few options Duncan; the gift of magic is looked on with suspicion and fear.  We must protect the majority over the sake of a few."  He turned back to Surana.  "As I was saying; you have passed your Harrowing and are now a full mage.  I should like to present to you your robes, your staff, and a ring bearing the Circle's insignia.  Wear them proudly, for you have earned them."

     Surana took the bundle slowly, eyes landing on the Circle ring.  For years this had been the goal; to be recognized as a full mage, to start taking on apprentices, to represent the Circle as it stood.  But standing there now, with all the rights granted, brought her no joy.  Perhaps it was just residual discomfort from the Harrowing.  Instead of vomiting, she'd just be in a poor mood for a bit.  Surely that was it.  "Thank you, First Enchanter."

     "Now it goes without saying that you must not discuss what took place in the Harrowing chamber," he said, "with _anyone_." Irving added, a knowing gaze under those bushy grey eyebrows.

     So much for the plan to at least halfway warn Jowan.  "Yes First Enchanter."

     "Now then...take your time to rest.  The day is yours to finish as you please." he smiled.

     "Thank you First Enchanter." Surana said, forcing a smile.  

     "If you will excuse me First Enchanter, I'll take my leave to return to my quarters." the Grey Warden said.

     "Of course Duncan; would you be so kind as to escort Duncan here, child?"

     "Yes First Enchanter." The words were starting to lose their meaning.  She wondered how many times she'd ever said it, and how many more times she would have to say it.  It was a queer thought, and she had to shake herself a little to put it aside.  

     "Wonderful.  Now if you both will excuse me, Gregoir and I have our discussion to finish." Irving said.

     Surana turned away, clutching the bundle to her chest.  Cullen's gift had grown warm in its hiding place between her breasts, almost like a little living thing tucked away all safe and sound.  She smiled, relieved to be escaping a visit to Irving’s office without a lecture.  "This way Duncan."

 

     They had just passed the chapel when Duncan spoke again.  "Thank you for walking with me; I am glad of the company."

     "Of course.” Surana said, turning around even though walking backwards would slow their pace.  Cullen hated it when she did this, but it always felt stranger to converse with someone and not look at them then it felt to walk this way.  “Would it be alright to ask you some questions?"

     "Oh?"  The Warden cocked his head.  "What about?"

     Surana shrugged.  "Well...I guess firstly, what is it that Grey Wardens do, exactly?"

     "Our duty is to battle darkspawn wherever they appear.  The Grey Wardens come from every race, every possible place in society; we are united by this common purpose." He said, squaring his shoulders.  "Elf, dwarf, or man; none of that is as important as defeating the darkspawn."

     That was a stunning answer.  "Elves?  Really?"  

     He smiled.  "Some of our most honored Wardens have been elves.  Garahel, for instance, who slew the first arch-demon, was elven.  The darkspawn threaten us all; we do not pretend that any race is worth more than another."

     "...wow..." Surana whispered, more to herself than to Duncan.  Shartan was the only "acceptable" elven hero of note that was generally talked about, and even his sermons were mostly 'gee isn't Andraste the greatest human ever?’  Even the chapter of great elven mages in 'Mages Through the Ages' was brief and mostly centered on ‘this elf figured out you won’t die if you chew this leaf exactly 47 and a half times’.  

     Duncan reached out and touched her elbow lightly, stopping the backwards procession as they crossed under the archway.  He leaned back against the frame, hands behind his back.  "Has being an elf in the Circle been difficult?"

     Surana mimicked his posture on the other side, frowning.  No one had asked her something like that before.  "I...suppose it's...it can be?  Maybe...well...yes.  People act...odd, sometimes.  Like sometimes when the older students come, they see the ears and start ordering you around like a chambermaid.  Like they're so used to bossing an elf around that they can't fathom that you're a student as they are.  Sometimes people play pranks that aren’t that funny...I ignore most of it because...well...if it doesn’t draw blood, it’s not that bad, right?"

     Duncan put a hand on her shoulder.  "I am sorry for that; I myself have tried to change perceptions, and failed on more than one occasion.  I expect that if one has always seen elves as less than human, it is too hard to imagine them as something else."

     The physical contact was...strange.  There wasn't much touching in the Circle; not idle touching anyway.  A senior enchanter might correct your gestures or cuff you, a Templar was within their rights to drag you by the arm, ears, and hair...but it was generally unacceptable to leave your hands on someone as Duncan had.  Heat rose in her cheeks, fast and furious enough to put a tear in her eye.  "Hurts a bit...when they talk down to you, just for not being human."  Surana forced a smile and shook her head.  "I'm being silly, never mind."

     He squeezed her shoulder.  "Do not apologize for your heart.  And do not let the unkindness of others discourage you; rather let it temper you and make you stronger."

     "We should continue on the way." she mumbled, ducking her head to avoid the Warden's dark gaze.  

     "Of course." he let go of her shoulder.

     Surana skipped ahead a few steps, out of reach, still clutching her 'welcome to mage-hood' bundle.  Days like this, when strange thoughts and ideas stacked on each other like stones for a wall, were rough.

 

     Old Nolan was gone from the guest-quarters, which was just as well.  Surana had gathered a little more courage, and she wanted to spend it questioning the Warden instead of losing it to a dismissal.  "Would it be alright to ask you a few more questions?"

     "Oh?  What is on your mind?" he asked, sitting on the bed.

     Best to tackle the stones a thought at a time.  "You wouldn't happen to know anything about the Tranquil, would you?"

     Duncan frowned.  "The mages whose connection to the Fade has been severed?  I know little of them beyond that; why do you ask?"

     "I know generally what's thought amongst the Circle, concerning the Rite and all...I just wanted to know what a non-mage might think." she shrugged.

     "Well," he began, "it keeps them and those around them safe.  Perhaps the sacrifice is worthwhile, although I cannot say."

     Of course he might say something like that.  Because mages are dangerous, demons are around every corner, and every non-mage should be wary.  "How many mages have joined the king's army, do you know?" Better to talk about those who weren’t lost than those who were, for now.

     "When the King sent out the call, Ferelden's circle sent seven." Duncan pursed his lips.  "I asked King Cailan's permission to come and seek a greater commitment from the Circle."

     Surana blinked.  "How many mages does an army need?"

     "I would hope to place at least two mages in every contingent.  Mages make the difference in these sorts of battles; the darkspawn have their own magic, and our resources must exceed theirs."

     Darkspawn have magic?  Surana could not believe what she heard; Irving had given permission to spend the rest of the day in the library, she would have to do just that.  Darkspawn, magic, blights, Garahel; there was so much to look up!  "And just a handful of mages would do that?"

     "Mages heal.  They can call fire and ice down upon the enemy, and more...there are times that I wonder if the Chantry is too restrictive with such a resource.  Darkspawn are a greater threat than any abomination they can imagine..." he smiled.  "But listen to me; an old man's ramblings can't be that interesting."

     Surana smiled back.  She didn't have the heart to tell him that 90% of the Circle's teachings were exactly that.  "I've learned a lot from what's been said."  Whether it was what Duncan had intended to teach, she would guess not.  But it was nice to see a non-mage have a little more faith in magic than the Chantry.

     "You're too kind...but I expect from the shadow just beyond the doorway that you are needed elsewhere."

     Surana looked back over her shoulder, catching a flick of a hem.  "Oh--of course.  I'll take my leave now; thank you again for speaking with me."  She bowed out of the room; the mental stones had shifted again, and there was still a lot to consider.  But it had been genuinely nice to talk to someone who didn't think of magery as a curse or a reason to act like a pompous ass.

%MCEPASTEBIN%


	4. A Truly Terrible Plan

     Jowan was waiting just beyond the guest-quarter's door.  "I'm glad I caught up to you!  Are you through with Irving?" he was bouncing on his feet, wringing his hands.

     "For now, I think.  What's wrong?" Surana asked, cocking her head.  "You're all jittery again, have you been into something?"

     "I need to talk to you, about what we talked about this morning." Jowan stepped in closer.  "You know, about the Rite?" he whispered.

     She frowned.  "Why are you whispering now?  It's very suspicious."

     "Shh!" he hissed.  "I don't want to be overheard...let's go somewhere else, it's not safe to talk here."

     "Alright, but I'd like you to know you're worrying me.  A lot." she said, falling in step with him.

     "Just come with me." he said, leading her to the chapel.

     She couldn't _possibly_ frown any harder, but at this point she was willing to try.  "Jowan, what are you--

     Jowan shushed her again, making a beeline to Andraste-as-the-grain-bringer's corner.  A Sister was already there; the mousy one who tended to warble like a shakily blown pipe note.  "We should be safe here." he declared, smiling broadly.

     Surana raised an eyebrow.  "Oh, in the Templars' favorite haunt?   _Brilliant_ Jowan, right up there with a cauldron made of cheese."

     "We can see the door from here; if anyone comes in, we'll simply change our subject." the Sister said.

     "...and you are?" Things were less unsettling in the blasted demon-baited Fade!  

     Jowan blushed.  "You know how I...I told you a few months back that I'd...I'd met a girl?" he ducked his head.  "This is Lily."

     Surana watched him take the Sister's hand, palm to palm, fingers going white as they squeezed together.  Their hands moved so comfortably against each other...it was odd to watch.  "This is Lily?  Well I have to apologize Sister, I was starting to think you didn't exist."

     Jowan glared.  "Lily's already taken her vows, she's forbidden to...have _relations_ ," his voice dropped to a whisper, "if anyone found out, we'd both be in such trouble.  Lily would be _punished_...I was afraid to tell anyone."

     "Oh don't worry, I'm not going to say anything.  First off, who would believe me? Secondly, _what_ kind of friend do you think I am?"

     He rolled his eyes.  "A terrible one...but thank you."

     "So why are the three of us having a clandestine meeting in the chapel?  You're not thinking of running off together to marry and have children, are you?" Surana snorted.  "Name a daughter for me, would you?" she laughed.  The laughter died fast at the look that passed between the Sister and Jowan.  "...oh Maker, _no_."

     "They're going to make me Tranquil, Suri.” He said, teary-eyed.  “They'll take everything away; my dreams, my hopes, my fears...my love for Lily.  Just take it all away!" Jowan stepped closer to the Sister.  "I'll be a husk, not even human anymore!  I can't let it happen Suri, I can't."

     "Jowan, there's--what--that's not--Irving wouldn't allow it!" she protested.

     "I saw the document on Gregoir's table; Irving signed authorization to perform the Rite on Jowan." Lily insisted.  

     "I don't...that..." Surana fumbled for words; something made that much harder by the sudden loss of her breath.  Jowan?  Tranquil?  On Gregoir's command, with Irving's permission?  That wasn't right, that wasn't _fair_!  "Why?" she demanded.

     Jowan looked down.  "There's a rumor...about me...that I'm...I'm a-a-a blood mage.  If I were to be Harrowed, I'd be a danger to everyone...and I’m already so bad with even basic spells."

     "But it's just a stupid rumor.  A stupid, pointless rumor going around a stupid, pointless place...right?" she hated herself for asking; but better to put a rumor to rest wholly than let any snippet of it live.

     "Of _course_ it’s just a rumour!” Jowan exclaimed, exasperated.  “I've been meeting Lily in secret, that's why I've been...I know it looked suspicious but...I'm _not_ a blood mage." he said.  "If we try to explain ourselves, that'll just put Lily in trouble.  We need your help Suri, please!"

     There wasn't a thumbnail left to chew on, but damned if Surana's thumb wasn't at her lips anyway.  Of all the stupid, foolish, _idiotic_ things to get tangled up in...but Jowan had been her friend almost from the first day she could recall in the Circle.  And _no one_ deserved to be made Tranquil based off a stupid rumor.  Lily's plight didn't so much concern her, because the Chantry never set on its own as hard as it set on mages.  But she was Jowan’s concern, Jowan was her friend, and Surana was essentially trapped.  "Alright.   _Alright_ Jowan, don't make that face…”  Surana sighed.  “What do we need to do?"

     He beamed.  "You're the greatest Suri.  We'll name _two_ daughters for you."

     Lily spoke up.  "We have a plan; I can get us to the repository, where the phylacteries are hidden...but from there we face complications.  The door is locked, and its keys lay with Gregoir and Irving.  But what is a mere door to a mage?"

     "And if it's a magical door?" Surana couldn't help but drip a little venom.  They were, after all, in a magical tower full of magic.  Rarely was a door "just" a door.

     "We don't have a choice." Jowan shrugged.  "I once saw a rod of fire melt a lock; they have those in the storeroom...but Owain won't release one to a mere apprentice."

     Surana sighed.  "And this is where my Harrowed self comes in?"

     He nodded.

     "I would like it known that this is a very terrible, very _stupid_ plan."

     Lily pursed her lips.  "We have no other hope.  If we do not destroy the phylactery--

     "I know." Surana interrupted.  "Jowan will be hunted and you'll both be in the shitter.  I didn't say I wouldn't _help_ , I just wanted it known that I think this is a tremendously bad idea that the three of us are sharing."

     "Duly noted." she replied coolly.

     Surana sighed.  "If you two will excuse me, I have a fire rod to liberate.  Don't get caught between now and the time I get back." she turned away from the hand-clasping lovers.  Some days it didn't do to get off the bottom bunk; it _really_ didn't.

 

 _Go to the storeroom to get the form to get signed to get the rod of fire to melt the lock on the potentially magical door to break into the repository to destroy the phylactery to set a friend free._  

     And only half a dozen obstacles between the start and the finish; a horde of spiders, sentries gone wild, Tevinter relics that promised doom, and Lily's constant fearmongering about magic.  That counted for more than three obstacles in and of itself, but Jowan was a better referee than she would have thought.  At least she had learned to never get into an argument with your best friend’s lover; he would always side with her _even when she was horribly wrong_ and everyone would be cranky after.

 

     "Who would have thought such a _tiny_ thing could hold such power..." Jowan muttered, holding the vial to the light.  Had his blood always been that dark?  "And so _easily_ undone."

     "Hurry up and break it already, I want out of here." Surana grumbled, stomping her feet and blowing on her fingers.  It was cold in the phylacteries' hold.

     He didn't so much throw down the vial as let it drop from his fingers.  It shattered, and he took a deep breath.  "And I'm free...this is what it feels like to be _free_."  Lily wrapped her arms around his middle, squeezing desperately.  He beamed down at her, returning the embrace and looking back at Surana.  "Would you destroy yours, if it were here?"

     Surana shrugged.  "No point in thinking about it; mine's been sent to Denerim.  It's long gone.  Can we get out of here, _please_?" Something in the air reminded her of the Harrowed Fade; a niggling sense of wrongness that made the air hard to breathe.  She wanted to be done with this stupid plan, to retreat to her new room and avoid any further misadventure.

     Jowan laughed, giddy.  "Alright, alright.  I won't forget this Suri.  Two daughters, named just for you!"

     "So long as they don't both wind up with the same name, I'm content." she replied, ready to sprint from the hold and leave the pair of them behind.  This was far and above the regular acts of disobedience; this had involved removing the Templars' hold over an apprentice.  Surana did not fancy being caught in the act, not one whit.  Three months with the People had earned her half a year in a solitary cell with no staff and very little food; she didn’t want to know what kind of punishment _this_ offense would net.

 

     The door leading to the first floor felt so much heavier the second time she pushed it open.  Jowan and Lily were halfway up the stairs, whispering happily to each other; when they stopped short; she ran into the back of them.  “ _Move_ you two--

     "So what you said was true, Irving."  

     No bard, drunk in a tavern, smith, or poet that had ever been or currently lived had come up with a series of swears that would fit this moment.  "Oh this is bad, this is _so_ bad." Surana whispered.  She peered around the two and counted Irving, Gregoir, and half a dozen Templars with sword in hand.  Terror robbed her of the ability to even _try_ to figure out a new and appropriate swear.

     "G-g-Gregoir..." Lily breathed.

     "An initiate and a blood mage...I'm _so_ disappointed Lily." The Knight-Commander stepped in close, peering into her face.  "She does not _seem_ to be Enthralled."  He stepped back, shaking his head.  "And this one," he spat, pointing angrily to Surana, "freshly Harrowed and already flouting the Circle's law!"

     "I too am disappointed child.  You could have told me you know of their plans, but you did not." Irving shook his head, hands clasped behind his back.

     Jowan had stepped forward, pushing both girls behind him and keeping his arms out to shield them, though it was a deeply ineffective gesture against half a dozen swords.  "You don't care about us!  You're just a-a-a-a mouthpiece for the Chantry's every whim!" He shouted.

     That startled Surana out of the panicked stupor.  "Jowan, Jowan _shut up_ , you'll only make it worse." she hissed, grabbing the back of his robes.  It wasn't so much Irving's disappointed face or Gregoir's spitting that had her terrified; it was that the pair of them joined together in righteousness that killed the feeling in her limbs.  Her stomach roiled; missing breakfast had never before been such a blessing!

     "It falls to me to sentence this blood mage to death.  And for forsaking her vows, the initiate must be sent to Aeonar." Gregoir declared, ignoring the slander.

     “NO!” Jowan shouted, stepping towards the Templars.

     "No!" Surana pulled at his robes, trying to keep him from rushing into impalement; Lily had moved away at the mention of Aeonar, standing off to the side as useless as a bottomless bucket.  Some great love!

 

     A blinding flash; blood spattering the floor.  Bodies sailing through the air, falling to the ground with great meaty thuds.  Jowan, clutching his hand.  None of it made sense; her mind had snapped, obviously.  Was this death?  Ringing in her ears, had to be sword on stone.  The banging, the blood, it was their three heads hitting the floor, that was all--

     "I knew it!   _Blood magic_....but to overcome so many...I never thought him capable of such power..." Irving wheezed from the floor, laid out flat upon it.

     Without thinking, she knelt at his side to help him up.  "I can't...I don't believe what's happened." Surana managed.

     "Indeed.  To overcome so many...are you alright, Gregoir?" Irving asked as he leaned on her shoulder heavily.  

     "Oh _fine_ Irving; had you let me act sooner I would be all the better!  Now there's a blood mage on the loose and no means to track him down." Gregoir barked, glaring at Surana.

     "He can't have gone that far, we're in the middle of a lake!" Surana protested.  "There's still a way to catch him."  Jowan was not, after all, Anders.  He probably wouldn't dive into the water and then paddle about a bit shouting insults at the metal-suited guards before going for the far shore.

     "Do not presume to speak to _me_." he snapped.  Then he turned on Lily.  "You helped a blood mage girl!  Look at all he's wrought."

     "Lily didn't know Jowan was a blood mage either!" The protest burst out of her.  Jowan had fled and they would have to shoulder all of the blame and neither the First Enchanter nor Knight-Commander looked to have any compassion.  

     "You've been a good friend, but I will speak for myself now." Lily said, offering a sad smile.  It slid from her face quickly.  Turning to Gregoir, she spoke softly.  "I submit to your will Knight-Commander.  I have aided a blood mage, and I recognize what damage my actions caused.  I will...go to...Aeonar." A short, strangled sob slipped out, but no tears fell.  Not even when the standing Templars took her by the arms to lead her away.

     "And you," Gregoir snarled as he turned on Surana, "you know well that the repository is for!  Why some things must be hidden away!  Did you take anything important from there?!" he demanded, fingers outstretched as if he would turn her upside down and shake a ransom's worth of stolen goods out of her robes.

     Great; a death sentence and accusations of thievery to boot.  Maybe next Gregoir would accuse her of seducing the Grand Cleric and eating human infants.  "I didn't take anything Knight-Commander."

     "I believe her, Gregoir, for what good it will do her cause." Irving said, straightening slowly.

     It was a relief not to carry his weight, but it would have been nice if he had supported her as well as she had supported him.  Surana swallowed.  

     "Your antics have made a mockery of this Circle...all that is left is to decide what to do with you." Gregoir glared at her, fingers flexing.  

     Maybe he really was going to turn her upside down and try to shake the 'right' answers out of her!  "I must say again," Surana said slowly so she could have time enough to restrain the swears that threatened to burst out, " _I did not know he was a blood mage_.  He was my friend, he came to me in trouble...it was a stupid, stupid idea.  I know this already." she sighed.  "I have nothing for my own defense except ignorance."

     "That is no excuse!" Gregoir bellowed, snatching the front of her robes in his hand.  The move forced her to her toes and put her face in range to catch every drop of spittle Gregoir had to spray.  "Thanks to your foolishness, all of our protective measures are for naught!  You set a blood mage loose on Ferelden; every life he takes will be on your head!" he roared, shaking her.

     "Knight-Commander; if I might interrupt." There was only one person in the Tower that day who seemed brave enough to interrupt the fuming Knight-Commander.  Duncan strode into the room as if nothing was amiss.  "I am not only recruiting mages for the army; but for the Grey Wardens as well.  This girl would make a fine Warden, I think."

     "Duncan..." Irving shook his head.  "She doesn't have the sense."

     "She is a danger!" Gregoir added, giving Surana another sharp shake.

     All this shaking and yelling was making her neck and head hurt. That funny, disconnected, and not-quite-real feeling was still plaguing her; either that or she had reached the realms of being so terrified that there was no terror left to feel.

     "It is rare to find someone who would risk all for a friend in need." Duncan returned calmly.  "An admirable trait in anyone."

     "NO!" Gregoir bellowed with another shake.  "I refuse to let this go unpunished!"

     Surana swallowed, daring to turn her face enough to get at least half an eye on Duncan.  "If the Grey Wardens will have me, I'll gladly go." she managed to choke out.

     "Gregoir, mages are needed.   _This_ mage is needed.  There are worse things in the world than blood mages; you _know_ this." Duncan put his hands on her shoulders and pulled back, prizing Surana from Gregoir's grip with surprisingly little effort.

     She was glad to be free of his grip, glad to be out of the spittle, and gladdest to be escaping the Tower, even if it was to an uncertain future.

     "I will not allow it!" Gregoir sputtered, rounding on Irving.  "This girl helps a blood mage escape, and not only does she face no punishment, she is to be _rewarded_ by being made a Grey Warden?!"

     "I myself will take her under my wing, and bear the responsibility of her future actions." Duncan added.

     "This is preposterous!  Are our rules for nothing Irving?  Have we no control over these mages?" Gregoir demanded.

     Irving did not look in Duncan's direction.  "Enough Gregoir.  We have no more say in this matter.  Duncan has made his decision, and we must accept it."

     "This bodes ill for us all." Gregoir snapped.

     "So...I'm going to be a Grey Warden now?"  Surana couldn't believe the enormity of her dumb luck; it made her head swim. Or maybe that was just the residual from Gregoir’s interrogation technique.

     Irving finally looked her in the eye.  "Yes.  Be proud child; you are luckier than you know."

     Considering she had just narrowly escaped Gregoir's capacity for punishment?  Surana didn't think she could be any luckier than that.  "Thank you for everything First Enchanter." the words fell out of her mouth in sodden lumps.  Why was she thanking him?  He hadn't done one thing to defend her or Jowan.  Or even Lily; not that Lily would have needed much defending if Jowan hadn't turned out to be a damned liar.   _Oh_ the stones were stacking up in her head again!

     Duncan's hand found her shoulder again.  "Come.  Your new life awaits."

     Surana let him lead her away.  She had so little to her name already; the Circle technically held title over her books and her robes and shoes and...and _everything_.  They held the deeds over her bed, her friends, her studies.  There would be no point in trying to say goodbye to anyone; Jowan's stunt had made her name as black and unwelcome as swamp pox.  Suddenly, for the first time in a very long time....Surana was genuinely alone.  The only solid, real thing in her life was the stone between her breasts.

     And Duncan's hand on her shoulder...


	5. Osta-gar?  Osta-GONE

_Fire!  Flesh burning, dead dogs in cages.  Pikes everywhere, traps and traps and traps; how did this happen?!  How could this happen?  They came up from underground, overwhelmed the soldiers, how did no one notice the giant hole?!  Hours and hours of work, has to be hours and hours of work; so many pieces of people, not even whole bodies after the first floor—oh Maker oh Maker oh Maker oh Maker!_

_What in the name of Andraste’s blood-stained underthings is **that?!** Ogre? No-no-no-no-no oh Maker it’s too big, it’s too big and it’s not stunned one bit—wait, fire! Alright beast, feel the burn, feel it in every inch of your ugly rotted hide! We must’ve missed the signal, have to hurry, light the beacon. Forget the torch soldier, there’s still fire in my hands!_

_To the window, can’t make sense of anything. Someone’s screaming behind, the ogre’s dead, why is there still screaming? Then a hail of arrows, and a second hail.  The first ones that struck stung but the ones that went in after didn't hurt at all; blood on the stone, cold all over, did they make the charge? **Did they make the charge?!**_

* * *

 

The first breath burned.  The second wasn't as bad.  By the third deep breath, Surana could force her eyes open.  She saw a thatched roof, felt pine straw tickling her back.  Where in the rot-sodding blazes _was_ she?

"Ah, your eyes _finally_ open.  Mother shall be pleased."

The voice was vaguely familiar; a woman’s...where had she been to talk to another woman long enough to recognize the voice?  Surana sat up slowly, hand to her chest.  No fletch jutted from the skin and her fingers sunk into no bloody holes.  She was mended!  "I remember you...the girl from the Wilds." she said slowly, squinting.  "I'm sorry, your name escapes me at the moment."

The girl rolled her eyes.  "I am Morrigan, as you have forgotten.   _We_ are in my mother's hut in the Wilds, where _I_ am bandaging your wounds.  Are we now in the same place of mind?"

She nodded slowly, comprehension dawning.  The Chasind witch from the ruined temple; pretty but brusque.  Helpful though, which cheered Surana immensely in the circumstances.  

"How does your memory fare?  Do you remember anything of Mother's rescue?" the girl demanded.

Surana shook her head.  "I just remember..." _Dead dogs on the floor-the ogre MAKER the ogre!-bodies everywhere-they came up from under the blasted ground!-arrows arrows everywhere!_  "I remember...well I remember a lot of arrows.  A lot of darkspawn, and a lot of arrows." she said at last.

"Well Mother did manage to save you, though t'was a close call.  The man who was to respond to your signal quit the field; those who were left behind were slaughtered...your friend is not taking the news well at all." The girl bent over the bed, slapping Surana's hand away.  "Do not press there or you will start the bleeding again." she snapped, adjusting the bandage on Surana's chest.

Had she been digging at it without noticing?  Probably.  Nothing like hearing about the wholesale slaughter of people for no good reason to set one picking at oneself.  "Alistair lives?"

"The suspicious dim-witted one that was with you earlier?" Morrigan snorted.  "Yes.  He is outside by the fire.  Mother has asked to see you once you are woke enough to dress."

Slowly and carefully, Surana eased off the bed.  Her things were settled neatly on a trunk beside the bed; a little ragged at the hems and faded, but free of blood and very large holes.  Cullen's gift sat underneath it all, and she was relieved to see that little green rock.  "Thank you for your help Morrigan."  She said.

The hedge witch folded her arms across her chest, a fierce scowl springing to her face.  "I--you--you are welcome.  Though Mother did most of the work; _I_ am no healer." she spat.

"Still, thank you." Surana repeated as she dressed and combed fingers through her hair.  "Your mother's outside then?"

" _Yes_.”  The girl snapped.  “Do you _see_ her here?"

"Fair point." Surana replied.  "Thank you again Morrigan." she repeated as she opened the hut's door.  It was so bright in the Wilds; of course a single candle flame would be harsh as four suns after the blackness at Ostagar.  Alistair was leaning against a crumbling statue, glaring at the murky water.  He looked up sharply as the hut's door squeaked shut.  

"There, you see young man?  You worry too much."  The old witch chided, sodden cloth in her hands.  It seemed she was stringing her washing to dry.

"You..." Alistair breathed, rushing towards Surana.  He wrapped his arms around her, lifting her off her feet and crushing her desperately to his chest.  "You're _alive_!  I thought you were dead for sure!"

Dangling so far off the ground, slipper threatening to drop, all Surana could manage to do was awkwardly pat his shoulder.  "Yes Alistair....still alive...ok now.  Ok." she squawked.

"Oh put the poor girl down boy, she's a mage, not a parcel." the old woman chided.

He set her down slowly and stood back, red from collar to hair.  "Sorry." Alistair mumbled.  "This can't be real...if it weren't for Morrigan's mother...we'd be dead at the top of the tower..."

"Don't talk about me as if I'm not here boy.  I'm _old_ , not deaf." The admonishment was punctuated by a wet slap; another sheet went over the line. Just another laundry day in the swamp, it seemed.

Surana turned to the old woman.  "We're sorry...and thank you, so much for your help...though I've no idea how you managed it.  Not that it matters, as the outcome is so good for us."

The old woman snorted.  "A pragmatic outlook that will serve you well, young woman."  She threw another sheet over the line and spread it out.  "Now tell old Flemeth what plans the Grey Wardens might have, now that there are only two?"

"Flemeth?  As in the Flemeth, witch of the Wilds, the eternal maleficar?" Alistair gawped.  Surana had no idea why he would babble so.  Chalk it up to another story that wasn't worth telling in Kinloch.

"Also Asha'bellanar...and more often than I like, 'an old woman who talks too much'." she supplemented with a wry smile.  

"Who cares how many names she has?  She's saved our lives, we're very grateful, and now really what do we do?"  Surana combed her fingers through her hair roughly, and discovered several small braids hidden within.  At least they were neatly done, and not just ratty knots like some of the younger apprentices used to tie in their pranks.

"We need to bring Loghain to justice!" Alistair declared heatedly, face mottling.  "He quit the field, he abandoned his king, he...he needs to pay."

"An admirable plan boy, but a little short-sighted as there is a Blight to be dealt with and only two Wardens to do so." Flemeth replied.

The aforementioned Wardens shared a look.  Alistair shrugged, and Surana fingered the hidden braids.  "Well then...I guess we have to get in touch with the other Wardens.  I mean there are other Wardens somewhere, right?" Surana said slowly.

Alistair shook his head.  "Cailan summoned them...though I expect now that he's gone, Loghain will have taken control and put on measures to prevent their arrival.”  He sighed.  “For the moment...there’s just us."  He kicked at a stone, sending it to the water's edge.

Things were almost as hopeless as her last moments in the Circle.  "Is there anyone important we could go to for help?" She asked; they couldn’t be _completely_ without resource, could they? Well not they, but Alistair. The Warden, the human; he’d be more welcome somewhere than her, and that would be of help at some time…wouldn’t it?

"Arl Eamon." Alistair offered excitedly.  "He was Cailan's uncle; he'd never stand for Loghain's treachery!"

"And we know him well enough that he'd believe us over Loghain?" Surana raised an eyebrow. “Because I’ve never met him and people tend to distrust me immediately.”

"Arl Eamon wasn't _at_ Ostagar; he still has all his men.  He's well-respected by the Landsmeet too; we could go to Redcliffe and appeal to him directly.” He said, putting a heavy hand on her shoulder to reassure.  “I'm _certain_ he would take our side!"  Alistair beamed, a little manic and stressed, but more cheerful now than when the hut’s door first opened. He had strong faith in Eamon, obviously.

"It's a start, at least." Surana shrugged, although she wouldn’t call it a great one.  A nobleman she’d never met in a place she’d never been to with how much of a lagging start behind Loghain? That wasn’t exactly a glowing description of a potential ally.

"Yes.  It still leaves us short a force to take on an entire horde though..." he sighed.

Surana frowned, suddenly struck by a thought.  Eamon was iffy at best in her opinion, but there was more than just a friend of a friend to ask for help. "Flemeth...in my pouch, did you find--

The old woman produced the sealed scrolls.  "The treaties?  I did.  You really should be more careful with them girl.  They _are_ precious, after all." She held them out.

Accepting them gingerly and turning them over in her hands carefully, the thought continued.  "Orzammar, the Dalish, the Circle...these are the treaties Duncan was so keen to get."

"You're right--dwarves, elves, mages, men; we can replenish the forces lost at Ostagar!  We can go to Redcliffe and these other places, and build an army!" he shouted jubilantly.

"Then...I guess that's what we do.  We're Grey Wardens, after all."  Surana tucked the treaties away again.  The way Alistair buoyed the idea made it sound almost easy; she wanted it to be that easy but the pessimism that came with being showered with arrows wasn’t wearing off fast enough.

" _Such_ determination." Flemeth smirked, narrowing her eyes at Surana.  She seemed to be studying the younger mage.

It was a cold, unnerving gaze.  For a quick moment, Surana was sure those wizened eyes had changed to something less than human; almost catlike.  But the moment passed, and it was just an old woman's stern gaze.  "So you are set then?  Ready to be Grey Wardens, hm?"

Surana looked to Alistair, then mimicked his quick nod.  "Thank you again for everything you’ve done, Flemeth." she repeated.

"Ah, but thank you.  You are the Grey Wardens, not I...and I _do_ have one more bit of help to offer." Flemeth wiped her hands on her skirts, turning away from the half-full basket of wet laundry at her feet. The young witch—Morrigan—was emerging from the cabin and it was to her that Flemeth gestured to.

"Those sheets will mold Mother, for all your harping at me over the matter."  Morrigan said.  "Now, the stew is bubbling on the fire; will we have two guests for supper, or none?"

"The Wardens are leaving soon girl, and you with them." Flemeth snapped.

"What?!" Her jaw dropped, eyes flashing and—if Surana guessed right—at least four dozen incredibly rude insults readied themselves to pour from her mouth.

"You heard me girl.  You have ears, or did, the last time I looked!" the old woman laughed.

"Oh no." Alistair mumbled.

"That's very kind Flemeth, but if Morrigan has no wish to join us..." Surana trailed off at the icy look from Flemeth.

"Nonsense.  Her knowledge of the Wilds will be help enough, never mind her magic." Flemeth said sharply.  "Pack your things girl; your wish to leave has been granted."

Morrigan opened her mouth to protest loudly. "Mother, this isn't how I _wanted_ \--

Flemeth turned away from her sharply, arms folding across her chest.  "Consider this repayment for your lives.  I give you that which is most precious to me, because you _must_ succeed."

"She won't come to harm with us Flemeth, whatever happens." Surana replied earnestly; she had no idea how to keep such an oath, but she would do her damnedest.

"Not to ah...look a gift horse in the mouth and all, but won't this add to our problems?  Outside of the Wilds, she's an apostate." Alistair pointed out, hand in the air as if he were a student unsure of the question he was asking.

"If you do not want help from us _illegal_ mages boy, perhaps it would have been better to leave you on that tower." the old woman snapped.

"...point taken." he mumbled.

Morrigan rolled her eyes.  "A moment then, to retrieve my things." she turned away angrily and stomped for the hut.

"Always such a flair for the dramatics." Flemeth mused, turning back to the laundry.

Alistair snagged Surana's sleeve, pulling her closer and leaning down to whisper.  "Are you sure you want to take her with us, just because her mother says to?"

Surana shrugged.  "As of right now there are two of us to unite Ferelden, I'm happy to take any help offered.  Even if she's a little snappish."

He made a disapproving noise, straightening as Morrigan returned with a small pack.  

"There is a little village not far from here, just to the north.  We might seek supplies and information there...or if you would prefer, I shall simply be your silent guide." she folded her arms across her chest.  "The choice is yours."

"Please, don't hesitate to speak your mind." Surana said quickly.  

" _Oh_ you'll regret saying that!" Flemeth cackled.

"Thank you so much Mother dear.  I shall treasure this moment." Morrigan hissed.  "Do try not to forget the stew Mother; I should hate to return to find the hut burned to the ground."

"Bah!  More likely you will find to see this whole place swallowed up by the Blight!"  

Morrigan's face twisted.  "I...that's isn't what I meant, I..."

"I know." Flemeth nodded.  "Do try to have fun, won't you?"

Surana watched the exchange, perhaps more closely than would be considered polite.  Morrigan might only be a few years older than her, and had grown up in such a different manner.  It was amazing to watch, even if Flemeth left her unsettled.  

"Can we go?" Alistair huffed, shuffling from foot to foot.  "I don't fancy being here after dark."

The swamp witches rolled their eyes in perfect time with each other.  "Poor little Warden, afraid of boogeymen in the trees?" Morrigan simpered.

Surana had to stifle her amusement with both hands and a cough.  Alistair glowered, and Morrigan breezed past them both.  They had to jog to catch her pace, trying not to slip on the marshy ground.  She hoped Lothering wasn't a long way away; her feet were not yet as hardy as they should be for all the walking in her future.


	6. Robes of Discontent

     Shortly into the march, just after the lost Mabari had joined them, the bottom dropped out.  Rain as sharp as arrows drove them into the shelter of the trees; just beyond their edge was an empty and largely abandoned campsite.  It was in surprisingly good condition, the tents still solid and what goods left within salvageable.  The driving rain encouraged their appropriation, and curiosity combined with limited supplies stimulated snooping.  Morrigan had already chased Alistair and Barkley from the first tent, and seemed to be greatly amused at the lady Warden's confusion at what they were finding within.  

     "These are Chasind robes?  You're having a laugh at my expense again, aren't you?" Surana demanded, holding up the feathers-and-scraps ensemble.  She wasn't even entirely sure how one might wear it and still be any kind of virtuous.  Imagining the scandal gave her a malicious little thrill that she couldn't quite explain.

     "No, no this is one of those rare occasions where my being right is not at your expense Grey Warden." Morrigan replied with a smirk.  "Have you never considered what mages _outside_ your precious Circle might wear?"  It was amazing how little the girl knew, for all the knowledge that was supposedly found in mage prison.  Morrigan rather considered it a miracle that she could put one foot in front of the other successfully.

     "Well no, the only thing we know of outside mages is that they're dangerous apostates that should be avoided and punished." Surana replied, sitting back on her heels and running her fingers over the feathered epaulettes.

     "Like me." Morrigan said drily.

     "Right, except insofar as I know you're not a thinly-disguised demon waiting to chomp on my magical soul." She was rather proud of the level of sarcasm she'd managed to throw back.  Smarting off aloud wasn't her strong suit, after all.  Her tongue tended to be much sharper and wittier in her head, where it was safe.

     "That you know of." Morrigan drawled.  "After all, I am a Witch of the Wilds, daughter of Flemeth.  I could be waiting for the right moment to _swoop_ ," the word was punctuated with a derisive pop that could probably be heard through the tent even over the rain, "and do as you have suggested."

     "Not a lot of room to swoop in here, I'm afraid."  Surana replied, still combing her fingers through the feathers.  Mostly crow...or was it raven?  She was not entirely sure what differences there might be between the two, but they were glossy black and silver sheened, and quite _beautiful._  But the combing was not fully an act of feathery appreciation; some strange thoughts were brewing and Surana was not sure exactly what any of them meant.

     "You have a most peculiar expression on your face Warden; as Alistair did when he tried to sum one and one.  Dare I ask what causes such ugly consternation?"  Morrigan asked, brushing back hair from her forehead.  Rain always made it more unruly, and she would not go about as uncombed as the little Warden if she could help it.

     "Robes." Surana said quietly, fingers stilling on the feathers.  She stared at the wall of the tent, the Chasind gear piled in her lap.  

     "Robes?" Morrigan repeated with a snort.  "And what about robes?"

     The derision in her voice did not derail Surana's thoughts, mercifully enough.  "When you're first brought to the Tower, you're usually a child, dressed in children's clothing.  Your first lessons, if you can call them as such, are about your place in the world.  That magic is meant to serve mankind and never to rule, and that you must be ever vigilant lest demons swoop down and take you over and the Templars have to regretfully-but-hastily end your life."  She looked down at her lap.  "After that, you're given your first set of robes.  Then your next lessons are that you are obedient to the Chantry, obedient to the Templars.  Whatever your guards and teachers and priests ask, you must do because anything less may be a sign of corruption."

     Morrigan's faced twisted, nose wrinkled and a disgust usually reserved for Alistair in full force.  "And you wonder at my scorn!" she started, drawing a deep breath to repeat her rants against the enslavement of magic.  It was already a well-worn subject between them, and the adventure had only just begun.  But she stopped, noting a peculiar twitch in the Warden.

     The twitch was a tiny headshake.  "Then, finally, _finally_ after that's dinned into your head and you've learned how to nightmare quietly, you get your apprentice robes."  Surana continued, unable to stop.  "And you start learning how to use your powers on command, how to find your element.  You learn what's expected; apprentices graduate to full members of the Circle and that's another set of robes, and as a full-fledged member of the Circle you're expected to pick a job within, which means a whole slew of other robes.  Robes for the archivists, robes for the assistant enchanters, on and on and on...just robes, and robes, and robes."  The words petered out, and a strange little sob bubbled out of her chest.

     Morrigan shifted, uncomfortable that she could not guess at the Warden's meaning.  Rambling about robes?  There must have been a point, and so long as it was not something in the vein of a Chantry hymnal, Morrigan would be pleased.  The Warden was, perhaps, not as cowed as the usual Circle fodder.  She might even be witnessing the birth of a rebellion, which could prove quite interesting.

     "Robes and robes and robes...even if you're allowed outside the Circle, you will be in robes. They don’t actually _belong_ to you, and there are such stern limits on acceptable patterns and cuts, but you’re in some kind of robe, always." Surana continued slowly, watching a parade of stifling, heavy memories dance past her inner eye.  "Ostagar, a small force of mages, and not a blessed one in armor.  Archers get armor.  The Ash Warriors had armor.  There's even chest plates for the Mabari, but...but a mage is expected to go into battle in cloth that might, _at most_ , be enchanted against heat and cold."  Surana's hand slid unconsciously over her chest, where the 'spawn arrows had gone in.  It was hard to describe their injury; not hot or cold, not sharp or dull...just heavy.  Not quite like being struck because the weights had stayed even after the blood had started pooling underneath.  

     Morrigan frowned.  The Warden was a bundle of hitches and twitches; she pulled at her own hair and bit her fingernails and toyed with scars.  It was as if the woman had no idea about her own body!  Although it wouldn't be surprising if that was the case, Morrigan would have to admit.  She already knew nothing about being a mage, and being a woman was even more than that; double-enslavement in the Circle.  If she were the kind of person to express pity, Morrigan would pity her.  But she was not; the Warden would have to learn quickly or die gruesomely a second time.

     "The Chantry commands that we heal.  That we rain fire down on their enemies; that we risk life and limb to make precious metals and magical sconces and-and-and-and all manner of conveniences for them, but they don't even think to give us the most basic protection!"  Surana couldn't breathe; horror and realization threatened to tear her apart.  "And if we try to protect ourselves....we're to blame for our own deaths!"

     Morrigan cocked her head.  "Is there some point to your musings, or are you delighting in telling me what I already know?"

     Surana shook her head, seeming not to hear Morrigan's interjection.  "Had Duncan not been in the Tower that day, I may well be dead right now.  It'd be for my own foolishness but that's not how it would be written in the ledger."

     She frowned.  "Dare I ask?"

     "My friend...fell in love with an initiate."  _How_ , she still did not understand...and there would never be a chance to ask.  As horribly selfish as it was, she hoped he'd survived the escape.  That he had gone somewhere and settled into a quiet and blood-magic free life...and that the terrifying exhibition in the Tower was just a brief lapse in judgement brought on by fear and not the revelation of a villain's existence.

     Morrigan made a face.  "Oh that I had something in my stomach to vomit up at the very idea."

     "Amen." Surana snorted, finally looking at Morrigan.  "But they were in love, and he was my dearest friend, and he begged my help.  I gave it because...because there was no alternative."

     "Leaving aside the weakness that is so-called _love_ ," Morrigan sneered, "how do you mean there was 'no alternative'?"

     "Jowan wasn't...the best mage.  He had a very dear knack for setting himself on fire for trying.  He'd been at the Circle years longer than me, and he hadn't been Harrowed.  He wasn't ever going to _be_ Harrowed, it turns out.  They had signed for the Rite of Tranquility, the Knight-Commander and the First Enchanter."  Surana shook her head and grit her teeth, surprised at the hotness of the rage in her belly.  "I could not let my friend be un-made.  I wouldn't even let my enemy be un-made like that."  

     "This Rite of Tranquility; what Chantry leash is that?  I have heard it mentioned, but it is a subject that makes Flemeth particularly violent."  She snorted, and hoped the Warden was too involved in inner turmoil to take note of her brief lapse of knowledge.

     "Some terrible thing where they brand your forehead with magic and sever your connection to the Fade.  You lose...you lose everything about yourself!  Your feelings, your emotions; you're nothing but an automaton waiting for instruction.  A living puppet for the Circle to...to set to work."  Surana pulled the robes tighter to her chest; she thought of Owain.

     "Ah...then I suppose I might understand why you would involve yourself in such a hopeless plan."  Morrigan said slowly.  “That and your own failing sense of self-preservation.”

     Surana shrugged, and continued her story.  "We broke into the Repository and found his phylactery.  Broke it, so the Templars couldn't hunt him down after he'd left..." Surana sighed.  "Come up out of the Repository to find ourselves right in the middle of the Knight-Commander's trap....I say the Knight-Commander, it was Irving.  The First Enchanter...he..." Surana broke off and shook her head.

     "Go on.  I'll not have you waking me up in the middle of the night to finish this story." Morrigan said, which was true.  She did not want the story broken off and told in snippets that may let her forget some important fact from an earlier part of the telling.  

     "He knew Jowan and Lily had been dallying; he just let us go on so that the Knight-Commander would catch her in the act and punish her too.  He didn't offer one word in our defense...then Jowan had to go and use blood magic and proved the Knight-Commander right about being afraid." Surana said bitterly.  "If Duncan hadn't been there, I expect I would have been put back in solitary confinement...and I expect it would have been very easy for both of them to forget me there."

     Morrigan raised an eyebrow.  "And you have gathered all this from thinking about robes?"

     "Robes and arrows, yes." Surana replied, missing the sarcasm.  She took a deep breath.  "To hell with this fustian," she said as she pulled at the lacings on her cinch, "I'll change into robes one last time, and find armor when we reach a settlement."

     Morrigan watched the Warden fumble with her Circle trappings, curious and bemused.  Oh _yes_ , it was the birth of a rebellion.  Slow-to-catch as tinder on a stormy day, but there.  This would be most entertaining to watch, if it wasn't subverted by the usual Chantry claptrap.  

     Surana paused.  "You won't be offended if I change right here, will you?"

     Morrigan laughed.  "Oh yes, I will be so incredibly offended by a form similar enough to my own." she shook her head.  "Have we not _met_ Warden?  Honestly."  She slid closer to the elf.  "Come, I shall assist your rebellion, lest it be doused by your slave's judgement."  As she assisted peeling the layers away and the Warden's actual form saw air and light for what was probably the first time in a long time, she tried to bite back criticism...and failed miserably.  "You will burn like pig fat on the fire the moment you see full sun."  Thin scars even whiter than the Warden’s skin crisscrossed her back; no doubt unfairly earned and given with gusto.  Morrigan pursed her lips but held her tongue; there would be no point to criticize that which could not be changed.

     Surana shrugged, picking up the Chasind gear again.  "And then, like anyone else, I should harden and color and be a little less prone to roasting, now won't I?"

     "And these little arms, it's a wonder you can wave your staff." Morrigan added, tying the knots for her.  The clunky square knots of more civilized people would not hold Chasind wear together; weaving and tight pulls were required to keep things in place.  

     "I know; there's not exactly an exercise regimen at the Circle.  Used to be, but then Anders made a break for the shore and none of the armor-plates could swim after him.  You'd like him I think, he's very charming."  Surana replied, pulling and adjusting the gear around her chest.  It felt odd, the one layer versus years of small clothes and inner robes and slips and outer robes and drapes over that when it was cold.  

     Morrigan rolled her eyes.  "I very much doubt that, unless he has more sense than you about the ways of the world."

     "He just might.  He's escaped pretty regularly." Surana replied, taking a pouch of rubbery pitch from the bottom of the supply trunk, rubbing it along her feet.

     Morrigan's eyebrow rose.  "Now there's a surprise, you actually know how to use that."

     Surana shrugged as she applied the stuff to her toes.  Morrigan's criticism, though harsh and cutting and plentiful, was not without its kernels of wisdom.  That did not mean she could not return a little venom.  "Please; t’is an old apprentice's trick.  I've not yet met anyone who enjoyed blisters on their palms from a handful of fire."

     "It was an older trick than that," Morrigan replied with a snort, "Though I do concede your point on burnt fingertips."  She smirked as the Warden finished her ministrations.  With the weight of the Chantry off her back, the Warden looked almost competent.  "There, now you look like a proper heathen." she said approvingly.

     Surana smiled.  "Then we shouldn't raise a single alarm in Lothering; just a dog, an armed man, and two feathered girls looking for information at the tavern."  She began picking at the pitch still on her fingers, pulling it off in little pieces.

     Morrigan rolled her eyes, grabbing the Warden's hands and brushing them with frosty fingertips; it would freeze the stuff and make it easier to take off.  That the girl hadn't thought to do it herself was worrisome...then again, she hadn't done much magic on the journey so far without waving her staff; if there was going to be any hope for her cause, she would have to learn how to let the magic come out naturally and _without_ wiggling a stick!  "Provided the Chantry is busy watching for monsters under their beds, of course."  

     "You forgot about the 'spawn in the closets." Surana added, flexing her fingers and getting the last of the mess off.  "Thank you."

     Morrigan chuffed, sliding past the Warden to flick back the flap of the tent.  The sun had come out again, and its warmth would explain the color on her face.  "It appears the deluge has petered off.  We had best to be on our way." With that, she left the close confines of the tent.

     Surana watched her slip away, heard the grumbling outside as Morrigan greeted Alistair with orders to move in her usual tender manner.  She looked around the tent, wondering at what had caused these people to leave so hurriedly, what they might have been like.  Chasind were hailed as heathen barbarians, sooner to kill than to help...but was that as true as it was claimed to be?  Her thoughts were swirling, oft-repeated catechisms twisting around a blooming distrust and unsureness that was cutting right to her core.  She left the tent, leaving the Circle robes behind and answering Alistair's stuttering surprise with common sense.  "You put on dry socks, didn't you?  Not exactly wise or healthy to march with moss growing on your small clothes, right?" she'd countered.

     Morrigan had laughed at his discomfort as Barkley padded ahead with his nose to the ground.  Surana shielded her eyes from the sun, already feeling a prickling on her shoulders.  Frying pork fat or not, she would not regret leaving the old robes behind.  May some forest creature use them as a nest, or some other person seeking shelter find them more useful than she ever had.


	7. Loathering for Camp

     The flap of the tent drew back, and Leliana’s face appeared.  “I’d like a word with you Warden.  May I come in?”

     “Huh?  Oh sure.  Yeah, sure.” Surana waved vaguely, not taking her eyes off the papers in her lap.  Notes from the Chantry's library, (Ser Bryant had been so kind to look the other way as she scribbled!), a stew recipe pressed into her hands by a woman whose family name must've been Brunswick (if it did anything for dried rabbit, it would be a boon!), Elder Miriam's variations on the common health poultice, and a particularly fetching leaf from a tree just outside the village proper; it all had to be sorted and pinned for safekeeping.  

     "I hope I am not interrupting Warden, it is just that I have some concerns I feel I must voice." she said, casting a critical eye around the little space.  The barbarian robes were piled in one corner and the elf had already dripped ink on her bedroll.  A soggy piece of dog biscuit was melting into the fabric.  She herself was a frightful mess, all wild hair with bits of things in it and nightshirt on backwards.  Leliana suppressed a shudder as she kneeled gingerly just beyond the mess.  "Are you...all right?"

     "Oh yes, yes.  Just writing down the day."  Surana looked around her knees and frowned.  "You don't see a bottle of ink do you?"

     Leliana plucked it from a blanket fold, a small sigh escaping her lips as she realized that sooty ink was now under her thumbnail.  "Here, although I think most of it has gone into your bedding."

     Surana smiled, taking the bottle and dropping the quill in.  "Yes, Barkley tipped it over when he came in to say goodnight; ah well."  She shrugged.  "What's the problem?"

     "It is about the Qunari," Leliana began softly, "you _broke_ the prisoner's cage and set him free; he slaughtered an entire family.  Children, women, their men...the Revered Mother placed him there for a very good reason!"

     "Leliana, I know, alright?"  Surana flexed her fingers, cracking the knuckles.  She'd been writing for a good while before this interruption; especially over the Qunari.  There was a lot to be learned about him between the insults.  "What Sten's done is awful, but he seems regretful and he's agreed to help us as a form of atonement, which is a lot more useful than dying in a cage." The last few words were sharp and bitter.  

     "But he murdered children Warden!" Leliana protested.  "I agree with you that it would have been kinder to execute him immediately--

     "I didn't say that." Surana interrupted.  "I don't know how I would have handled his punishment, but I do not yet jump immediately to execution.  What was the _reason_ behind his actions, _why'd_ he do it?  That would be well worth knowing before I put him or any other man to death."

     The Warden was naive almost to a fault; sometimes men had to die.  Men _would_ die during this endeavor to stop the Blight, and the sooner she realized it, the easier her journey would be.  "It does not matter _why_ Warden--

     "It does." She interrupted again, fiercely.  "It matters more than what petty revenge you might get for leaving someone to starve to death or be ripped apart by darkspawn.  The 'why' is what separates people who have made a mistake from the genuinely bad people."

     Leliana pursed her lips.  "He is not _like_ us--

     "Yes, and I'm not like you, and you're not like Alistair, and Alistair's not like Barkley, and Maker knows Barkley isn't anything like Morrigan.  So what?" Surana demanded.

     Pinching the bridge of her nose and sighing was not ladylike, but it was the best expression of her frustrations in the messy space.  "I did not come into your tent to argue hyperbole.  I have concerns that I would like addressed, and since you are the leader of our party, I address them to you."

     "I hear you.  I _do_.” Surana replied, trying to temper her irritation. Leliana wasn’t coming from the wrong place with her concerns, but it was already pretty evident that they would have to forgive a lot of sins to start building the kind of help that could stop the darkspawn.  “But as it stands, we're in the shit." She added frankly.  "Alistair and I are branded traitors, with bounties on our heads and everything; but _somehow, some way_ , we have to get around that to raise an army to stop an enormous horde of horrible creatures that can come up from the ground without warning who are led by a talking dragon.  The Grey Warden recruitment policy has just become 'we will take _anyone_ '." she raked her fingers through her hair, finding yet another tiny braid.  Where in the blazes were they coming from?!  "I believe Sten when he says he'll aid us as atonement for the crime; it's all I can ask for, it's all any of us have a right to ask for.  I'm sorry if it makes you uncomfortable, but..." she shrugged.  "There's nothing I can do really, I don't think."

     Leliana sighed.  Her protest had had more to do with going against the Revered Mother's sentence; Maker knows a little murder was not going to make her uncomfortable, save for the loss of innocents.  But the Warden did not seem willing to hear her this evening.  Perhaps she was feeling a little forsaken by the Maker; understandable in the circumstance.  She would try again tomorrow to give voice...after all, the Imperium was not brought down in a day.  "Do not pull at your hair like that, it will fall out and stay fallen out." In the meantime, a change of tactics; something more familiar.  Perhaps the Warden-mage just needed soothing?

     Surana laughed a little, undoing the secret braid.  "Actually I think it'd grow over night just to spite me."

     "Give me your comb and I will tame it for you." Leliana said with a smile.  "I have not yet met a hair that could out-stubborn me.  We will sit be the fire and be easy." she added, anxious to get out of the messy little space.

     There was a surprising offer; was that normal?  Sometimes the apprentices would help each other pull their hair back for classes.  Surana wasn't sure if this was like that or not, but she dug around in the bedroll to find her comb anyway.  If nothing else, maybe Leliana would have a little more trust after they had a good laugh over some snarls.

     Leliana took the comb gingerly between two fingers, backing out of the tent and giving her sneer to the night.  The damn thing was missing half its teeth; no wonder the Warden looked as though she had been caught in a wind storm.  "Perhaps," she said as the elf emerged, "I should get some of my hair things.  They are...a little less worn."

     Surana shrugged.  "Alright.  Meet you by the fire then." she said cheerfully.

     "Yes...by the fire." O _Maker_ , what was she doing following such an unheroic hero as this?

 

     It was probably more than a little mean of her, but Surana was deriving a lot of pleasure from listening to the Orlesian swear under her breath.  She debated asking if Leliana had been 'out-stubborned' by the hair in her hands, but smarting off with your head in someone else's hands didn't seem that smart; better to keep quiet.

     "Wait here, I think I have some oil in my pack." Leliana sighed, pulling the fat comb free of another snarl.  The teeth were starting to bend, and at this rate, if she could not figure out how to gently unsnarl the Warden's hair, scissors would have to be involved.

     "Oil?  What for?"  Was there something sticky in it again?  Probably blood, which was an unhappy and unsettling thought for Surana.  She supposed she'd have to get used to it though, with darkspawn numbers clearly on the rise...didn't mean she had to be happy about it!

     "Your hair is so dry, this is why it tangles so horrendously!  How could you let it get into such a state?" she demanded.  "It is as if you have been dipping your head in watered lye."

     "Oh no, nothing like that, could you imagine?" Surana laughed.  "All I need to get my hair clean is a bit of bar soap."

     "Bar...soap?!"

     She nodded, half turning around.  "Yes.  Little white bars that smell like butter."

     Leliana gaped, torn between shaking the Warden, shaking her head, and crying.  Cheap, crumbly little bars of soap?  Used on _hair_?!  No wonder the Fereldens were so frizzy!  "Dear Warden, those are not for your hair!  They are not even acceptable for your hands."

     Surana shrugged.  "That's what we had in the Circle.  Oh, some of the older enchanters, the Seniors and such, they could sometimes requisition other things; but I was only just Harrowed.  Didn't even get to sleep in my new quarters before I had to leave."  Her cheeks burned, but she forced a smile and shrugged.  While she was not entirely sure why Leliana's shock was so mortifying, it was still not pleasant to face.

     "That...is surprising." Leliana said slowly.  "I must confess, I do not know much of the Circle in Val Royeaux, but I would guess their mages may wash with more than just...bar soap.  Let me get my oil, you will see how much better your hair feels with a little moisture put back into it." She smiled and gave the Warden's shoulder a squeeze.  " _Trust_ me."  With that, Leliana worked free of the Warden and crossed the camp to her tent to pick again through what little she still carried of Orlais.  One would think the Warden's mother would have taught her better than that, or at least one of the older ladies of the Circle!

     Surana pulled her hair over one shoulder, twisting it in her hands.  The idea of smearing oil into it seemed counterproductive to cleanliness, but obviously she was not one to be consulted on such beatific matters.  It left her feeling very... _ugly_...which of course made her feel even more foolish.

     "Surana!"

     She startled, realizing the hand waving in front of her face was Alistair's.  "Oh--I'm sorry, have you been talking?  I was...miles away." she threw her hair back over her shoulder.  "What can I do for you?"

     "Don't worry about it; I was just coming to discuss where we would head next.  We didn't really get a chance to talk about it in Lothering." he spread the map on the ground near her feet, squatting on the other side of it.  "What with the overwhelming friendliness of the tavern's patrons and all."

     Surana snorted.  "Yes, it was _such_ a shame to leave after the first fight."

     "Oh I'm _sure_ there will yet be plenty of opportunities to bloody the noses of potential captors." Morrigan said drily as she ambled to their place at the fire, sitting on a stump near the Qunari.  

     The look on her face as she eyed him was so very different from the way she held her face when she addressed Alistair; Surana rather thought she might be on the cusp of growing fond of Sten.  "Yes, about that--how do they know our faces so well?"

     "I expect Loghain enacted the bounty the moment he returned." Alistair glared at the map.

     "Well yes, but that doesn't answer my question.  I mean sure he'd know your face relatively well, maybe; you were camped at Ostagar longer than I was.  But I'm just an elf who maybe had three run-ins with him."

     "You struck him...I mean it's not hard to see why or how." Alistair mumbled, avoiding her eyes as he tried to master his embarrassment.

     "You dolt, the chances of someone in such a position as his being able to differentiate between fair-faced young elves are so slim they are not worth mentioning." Morrigan snapped.  

     "Morrigan!" Leliana scolded as she settled behind Surana with a flump, opening a jar and dipping her fingers in.  "That was unkind." She began to work the grassy-smelling stuff into a particularly large and stubborn knot.

     "Why, because it is _true_ Sister?" the sarcasm was palpable.  Morrigan folded her arms across her chest.  

     "Because it is insulting." she snapped.

     "Not really, she's right." Surana said diplomatically as a particularly rough pull from Leliana's fingers forced her head to tip back.

     "She is not right to insult you--

     " _Parshaara_!  I did not agree to come with you to listen to you all squabble like _baskari_." Sten rumbled.  "If we are not marching to Denerim to confront the Loghain, then what are we doing?" he demanded.

     "Sten's right--and we're discussing it.  Right now.  Doing that." Surana winced as Leliana's fierce ministrations continued.  "I think we should head for the Brecilian Forest first."

     "Why not Redcliffe?" Alistair demanded.

     "Well, firstly, the Dalish will be the hardest to find.  We may not even find a clan before the cold weather starts and the halla move for better ground.  If we go to Redcliffe first, we may miss them entirely."  She said.  " _And_ that's just based on the weather; we have no idea if a clan passing close enough to find might also accidentally incur the wrath of the local population and be forced to leave early."  

     "But if Eamon's ill--

     "Then he can't really _do_ anything for us at the moment.  Better to let his people tend to him and get him well before we come knocking at his gate to ask to borrow his army." Surana tapped the map with her toe.  "We go to the Forest first.  Whether we find a clan or not, we can still follow the Highway back towards Calenhad Lake.  We can take this route," she stretched her leg to follow the map's line, "towards the Frostbacks and to Orzammar."

     "Why not take the southern route, to Redcliffe?  We can stop by Kinloch Hold along the way, if you insisted."  Alistair said, leaning forward and drawing his finger along the route, trying to ignore the line of her leg.  

     "Oh joy, what _fun_ it will be for us to visit the mages' prison." Morrigan said with a yawn.  "Did it not occur to you that perhaps your companion has no wish to try and take a mountain named for Frost in the _winter_?  Because I doubt strongly that we will have made the journey to the elves, achieved their assistance, and then taken your short-sighted route to a mountain pass notorious for its deadliness even in the warmest seasons _before_ winter comes."

     Bless Morrigan for her mouth and need to needle Alistair, just this one time.  It had saved Surana from trying to think up something cleverer than 'Let's not go to the Circle but say we did'.  "Morrigan's right, in her fashion.  I don't fancy trying to take a snowy mountain in the winter, I hear it's very bad for you."

     He sighed as Morrigan smirked approvingly.  "I'd really like to go to Redcliffe as quick as possible."

     "I know.  But can we compromise?  Keep both routes in mind, but take into account the climate and what news we've heard from there before we make a final decision." She asked.

     Sten gave a disapproving snort, but remained quiet.  

     "Fair enough." Alistair said as he gathered the map up.  

     "Is it settled?" Leliana asked, attempting to run the comb from root to end again.  The Warden's hair was hanging a little limp, and her jar of oil was nearly empty; but it was worth it to not bend a tooth.  "There, not a snarl to be had.  You should let me braid it for you, so the oil will seep more into your hair than your bedroll."  Not that it would be noticed, if the Warden did not shake the filthy thing out before she went to sleep.

     "Yes, and if you insist." Surana replied, tipping her head back.

     "Oh _must_ you fuss and fawn over her as if she were one of those frivolous yapping little inbred mongrels the noblewomen like to carry about?" Morrigan snapped.  

     "I am not fawning, I am trying to help her!  The poor girl has not be taught how to manage her beauty, it is a scandal even for Ferelden."

 

     Alistair practically tripped over himself to get away from the campfire, fearing being drawn into an argument between the Chantry Sister and the hateful one over the...beauty management of his compatriot.  Sten slipped away from the fireside with more grace than that; he would give the camp's perimeter one last walk and leave the _baskari_ to mewl amongst themselves.  Barkley followed, nose to the ground and ears pricked; if the discussion got too out of hand, he would bound over to defend his master.

 

     "That _poor girl_ has other things on her mind than what vacuous standard others might expect her to measure against!"  Morrigan sneered, getting to her feet and brushing dirt from her backside.  

     "Listen to you, as if you do not have more care for your appearance than this poor girl." Leliana sniffed.

     Surana flexed her fingers, pulling at them to crack the knuckles.  "You know," she said slowly, "the poor girl can hear you, and she's rather offended."

     Morrigan chuckled.  "At last, the _poor girl_ speaks for herself.  Be careful Warden, or you will find yourself with another layer of slavery to shake off." With that, she left the campfire for her own little flame and tent near the tree line.

     "Such a rude creature."  Leliana huffed, weaving the Warden's hair between her fingers.  "And I do not mean to offend you Warden; I am just surprised that your mother did not teach you at least _something_ before you were brought to your Circle."

     "I never knew my mother."  Surana replied frankly.  "And the Circle is not a motherly place, not at all.  Not for some of us anyway."  The shrug that was about to follow that statement froze before her shoulders came up noticeably; what was she shrugging for?  She had only spoken the truth, and that was not something to apologize for.  And if it made Leliana uncomfortable well...maybe that was a good thing.  She seemed to be laboring under some misconceptions that were due clearing up.

     "I am...sorry that you never knew your mother." Leliana said sheepishly, tying off the end of the braid.  It was fat and glossy with oil in the firelight, and already looked a hundred times better than the brambly mess it had been earlier.  "I did not know mine well at all...she died when I was very young. I suppose I have made enough of a fool of myself for tonight."

     "No harm's been done, but yes, we should get to bed.  There's a long day of walking ahead of us." Surana said cheerfully as she got to her feet and shook her head.  The heavy weight of the braid down her back felt odd.  "Thank you for this." She turned to Leliana and smiled, pulling the braid over her shoulder to pet.  The oil was strange and slick against her palms, but if it kept knots from happening, it couldn't be _all_ bad.  

     Leliana nodded, watching the Warden worry the hair in her hands.  She would wind up undoing the braid at that rate.  "Good night Warden."  She turned away from the smile and worried fingers; at this rate it would seem that the Qunari tagalong would be the least concerning aspect of their group.  Leliana retreated to her tent, rubbing her hands against each other to work the last bit of oil into them.  This journey would mean no soft hands for a while, so she would relish these last moments with them.

     Surana watched her go, then went back to her tent.  A little more writing, and then she would go to sleep...provided she could get used to the fat hanging weight on the back of her neck.


End file.
